


Fair pay for fair work

by Yvetal



Series: To Deserve You [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-12-31 21:48:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 40
Words: 60,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12141834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yvetal/pseuds/Yvetal
Summary: She came to King's Landing for a fresh start, but old habits die hard, and the sight of gold has her on her knees once more. Sandor Clegane x OFC. Poorly concealed smut that somehow turned into a fluffy narrative.Originally posted to FF dot net.





	1. Wild

Margaret tugged and twisted mercilessly at her hair.  
"By the gods, child, when was the last time you took a brush to this?"  
"Just before breakfast."  
She received a sharp rap on he shoulder with the back of the brush for that, and mumbled something grumpily. Margaret was a reasonable woman for the most part, but the way she yanked at the girls auburn knots brought tears to her eyes.  
"Just put it in a braid, please!" She begged at last, unable to take this assault any longer.  
"That will not do, I told you that four times already!" The older lady snapped back, brandishing the brush menacingly. "I want the queen to see you today, and you must look presentable!"  
"I am a kitchen wench." The girl retorted. "I doubt she expects very much."  
Another blow, on her arm this time, and she winced. "And watch your mouth, as well! ...In fact I think it best if you'll refrain from speaking!"  
"Afraid I'll make a show of you?"  
"Yes!"

Primed and polished, she was lead, heavy tray in hand, to her task. Suzana, another new servant, was practically bouncing with excitement by her side. Ahead, Margaret's face had all but drained of colour as she imagined all of the wonderful ways she might be relieved of her duties should either of them slip up. Of the three of them, she was by far the calmest. She had served lords and ladies before, all with a certain measure of success. She might be brash and direct at times, but it was something her former employers had learned to appreciate of her. Either this kind and queen would do the same, or she would go elsewhere. No reason to panic.

Queen Cersei was in her public chambers, seated at a long table with her children and brothers. They had already finished the first miniscule course of their meal and were now waiting their main. When the three of them entered, food in hand, the children looked up hungrily, and the girl had to quietly tell her brothers to sit, which the older one - Jofferey, if she was not mistaken - clearly did not like. He forgot his gripes, however, once his plate was set before him, and proceeded to tear into his chicken like an animal.

"Careful, darling." His mother warned, sipping at her wine. "Mind you don't choke."

"I  _won't_!" He shot back, glaring.

The queen only rolled her eyes and proceeded to cut her own meat. Margaret nudged her elbow and led her and Suzana over to the far wall, where they were to wait, out of the way, until called upon. She tried to look about, to take in the elaborate hangings and expensive furniture, but Margaret prodded her in the ribs.

" _Stand still!_ " She hissed. "The Hound is watching!"

Ah yes, The Hound. She had been warned about him. The servants were all afraid of him, for they told her he was big, and hideous, with a temper to match. They said he would kill her for looking at him.

So she looked. Indeed she could not help being struck by how  _huge_ he was; taller than the average man by far, and broad, too. Even under all of that armour, she reckoned, he was a beast of a man. As for his face - well, that was concealed at present under the helm for which he had gotten his name. A snarling metal dog. He cut an impressive figure, she thought, and not one to cross. In fact, between the helm's jaws she fancied she could see two sharp silver eyes, scrutinizing her from across the room. She was sure she was supposed to be intimidated, so she smiled.

"Don't be afraid of my sister's pet, my dear." A voice drifted over from the table, laced with salt and sarcasm. It sounded like a man's voice, but it came from a figure she had at first mistaken for a fourth child. Tyrion Lannister, the queen's younger brother. An imp, or so they called him. "I would tell you that his bark is worse than his bite, but the truth is that both are equally unpleasant. Fortunately for you, he's well trained."

The Hound's gaze flickered down the the Imp, and narrowed. The Imp did not notice. Instead he gestured to her.

"Follow your friend's example, she even has the gall to  _smile_  at him. No doubt she knows he won't attack unless my sister says. And I don't think she's in the mood for killing servants at present, are you?"

He turned to the queen, who was watching this exchange with a scowl, and she took the opportunity to glance at Suzana, who was still staring at the Hound like a trapped deer. A swift elbow brought an end to that.

" _Smile_!" She whispered. Suzana obeyed, managing a strained grin. The Hound now watched them both.

"Come here, both of you."

She jumped, looking over to she queen, who had turned her attention to them. Calmly striding forward, she dragged the other girl with her, pulling her down as she bowed. She heard Margaret shuffle up alongside her.

"Your Grace."

"What is your name?" The queen demanded.

Before she could respond, Margaret spoke: "This is Rowan, your grace. And the blonde one there is Suzana."

The queen looked at her a long moment before saying: "Did I ask you?"

"N-no Your Grace."

"Then you shall keep quiet until I address you."

"O-of course, Your Grace, I apologize."

The queen looked back to them, and Margaret seemed to disappear into the shadows of the wall. Suzana squeezed Rowan's hand painfull painfully.

"Suzana, was it?"

"Yes, Your Grace!" The girl squeaked, palm immediately turning clammy. Rowan resisted the urge to shake her off.

"You're rather a plain thing, aren't you." The queen looked her up and down. "Still, you're young. Mind you keep an eye on the guards. Even Lord Clegane here -" She tilted her cup at the Hound, who bowed. "Has been known to taste some of the servants. Do be careful, won't you?"

Suzana glanced at the Hound once more and began to tremble. But the queen was not done.

"And you," she said to Rowan. "My, you are a pretty one. Even with that mark on your face. Do tell me how you got that?"

Rowan traced the line running across her nose. Her father had stitched it, so it hadn't scarred as badly as it might have, still there was a distinctive white mark. "I, uh… fought with one of the clansman's girls, Your Grace."

It took a while for everyone to process this. During which the atmosphere in the room changed considerably.

"You're from north of the Wall?" The queen's other brother cut in. "You're a Wildling?"

"Yes, Ser."

"And how did you come to work here?" The queen queried.

"Well, I worked for the Mormonts first. Then they sent me to the Tarleys, who sold me to the Tyrells. After that I spent two years with the Martells, but it was much too hot for me down there, so I decided to try for King's Landing, Your Grace." She explained.

"My, but you have been all over the Seven Kingdoms." The queen remarked. "And yet you still allow this one to speak for you?"

Rowan looked to Margaret, who was too busy bowing at the queen to see her. "Well, I've never worked for royalty, Your Grace. And every household works differently. It would be foolish of me not to follow Margaret's example…. Your Grace."

"I don't think you need to." The corner of the queen's mouth quirked up in a smile that Rowan immediately disliked. Nonetheless, she smiled back. "And I don't think I need to warn you about the guards. Do I?"

"No, Your Grace." She agreed.

"Still, I expect, given your  _upbringing_ , that their attentions don't much startle you, do they?"

Rowan smiled again, and this time the queen looked puzzled. "Not at all, Your Grace."

"What in Seven Hells are you going on about mother?" Prince Jofferey finally interrupted.

The queen smiled at him, and then back at her servants. "Oh, but I have gone on, haven't I? Clear the table, dear Rowan, dear Suzana. I do hope I did not frighten you too much."

"You don't think she was serious, do you?" Suzana's hands were still shaking as she wiped a damp cloth across the plates. "About the guards?"

Rowan took her measure of the girl. No more than two years younger than her, but it felt like a decade when she spoke sometimes. This was probably her first post, her first time away from the safety of her family. She still had no idea how the world worked. Enough full grown southern women were no better. She was probably still a maid and everything.

"Yes, she was. You need to be careful."

Suzana gaped at her once more. "Careful, how?"

Rowan sighed. "Walk straight. Dont look meek. When they try to get your attention, just smile and keep walking. Pretend to be dumb if you have to. When the men ask for meals to be brought to their rooms -"

Susana's eyes were widening all the while.

"- don't linger, just drop off the food and go. Certainly keep the door to your back."

"But if they catch me. If I can't get away -"

"There's no point in fighting."

The poor girl looked as though she would be sick. Rowan put down her cloth and laid a hand at her back."

"Do you want to know how I do it? How I've survived this long?"

Frantic nodding.

"Find one. One that's not so bad as the rest. Not just anyone, mind you, a big strong one. Make him feel like he doesn't want anyone else to have you. And he'll do the rest."

Suzana flushed, scandalized. "But we'd not be wed -"

"No, you wouldn't. If you do it right, who knows, though."

"My father would never approve -"

" _Fuck_ that!" Rowan exclaimed. "Your father's not here.  _You_ are! ... You're a maid, aren't you?"

"...yes?"

"Would you rather give it to someone, or have them take it?"

The younger girl turned her eyes back to the plate. "...give it."

"Too right." Rowan agreed. Silence stretched out between them. "Listen, I can help you pick one, if you -"

"I don't think that's quite necessary!"

"Fine, fine. Suit yourself."


	2. In the rain

Rain was falling down from the sky in sheets, hitting the keep and rolling down the walls in order to slip in the windows. There were already pools on the floor, and Rowan had long since given up on trying to keep her hem out of them. Her feet squelched in her soft leather slippers.

Of course today would be the day that the maester decided he was under the weather, and sent for all his meals to be brought to his chambers. And of course Rowan was asked to bring them every single time.

"You're the fastest." Margaret reasoned. "And the sturdiest. The others would catch their deaths in that weather."

So she had to march through the castle and across the courtyard to the maester's chambers, and listen to his grumbling as she helped him over to the table. He poured wine for her once, so she supposed that was thanks enough.

The sun had hardly begun to set when he requested dinner, and she complained that he was well enough to eat so much in one day. Still, she brought it without argument, and took her time about making her way back to the kitchen. With the weather so drear, the Red Keep was blessedly quiet, and she paused in the courtyard to admire the silent walls.

"What are you doing out there, girl!" A harsh voice echoed in the doorway, making her jump. "You'll catch your death in that rain!"

The Hound stood now in the sheltered walkway, glaring at her through the thin columns. He carried his helmet at his side, and for the first time Rowan saw the tragedy that was his face. One side fair enough; with high cheekbones and a strong jaw. Those eyes and a long curtain of black hair offset his lightly tanned complexion. Along with his physique, he cut quite the impressive figure. The other side was what put people off; that mess of puckered and twisted skin. Rowan wondered what might have maimed him so.

But she was staring, and she checked herself, smiling up at him as she made for shelter. His expression did not change.

"What the fuck were, you thinking, standing out there like a fucking idiot!" He growled. "You're soaked!"

Indeed she was. She could feel the weight of the water pulling at her dress. She wrung her sleeves as he watched.

"I was already wet." she replied. "It didn't seem to matter."

"So you thought you'd catch fever quicker?" He retorted. "Stupid girl."

"If I catch a fever, at least they won't send me to bring Pycelle's fucking eggs again." She commented, meeting his eye. "For a sick man he's awfully picky about how they're done."

The Hound snorted, and the left side of his face strained to raise with his right. "Cunt manages to get sick every time the weather turns."

"I can't understand how he managed to become a maester if he can't cure his own cold."

"All the more reason for someone not to stand in a downpour." He gave her a long look.

Rowan shrugged.

"Come on, then, I'm headed down to the stables anyway."

He laid a hand on her back and gently nudged her in the direction of the stair. In spite of all the warnings she'd given Suzana, Rowan fell into step beside him. She didn't think he was so bad, this one. Surely if he'd meant to hurt her he'd have done it already, anyway.

"What you said the other day." He ventured. "About your face. It true?"

"Yes." She answered.

"I've never known women to get into brawls. Definitely never seen one take a knife to another's face."

"You spend your time around civilized women." Rowan said. "Up north everything is rougher round the edges."

"And what did you do in exchange for…" He made a slashing gesture across his nose. "This?"

"I stabbed her in the gut."

"She died?"

"Yes. She couldn't survive that. Not if all the maesters in King's Landing tried to save her."

"And yet you're smiling."

"Of course I'm smiling. I fucking hated that bitch!" Rowan jumped the last step. "Good bloody riddance."

There was a sound like stone scraping against stone, and it took her an inordinate amount of time to realize that the Hound was laughing, outright cackling as he stepped out of the stairwell.

"You'd do it again?" he finally managed. "If she were here, in front of you, you'd do the same?"

"I might do it more slowly." She mused. "But aye, more or less the same."

"No wonder the queen likes you."


	3. No regrets

Cook was frantic. The king had hardly given her enough time to prepare for this banquet, and now she had over a hundred people waiting at their tables for food that was nowhere near done. So she took it out on them. They were only the messengers, of course. The guests were waiting, and extremely vocal about it. Having finished their meagre helpings of fish they were now calling for meat. Rowan had been asked seven times where the main courses were, and thrice had come down to check.

"I told ye a thousand times: it's not fucking done!" Came the shout as Cook heard her footfall once more. "Now piss off before you get a fucking arse whipping!"

Suzana, who was already standing about, quailed. Rowan gestured for her to leave as she approached.

"At least let me help!" She implored, rounding the counter to where Cook stood sweating over a whole spitted boar.

"Help? What fucking help could you be? Can ye get this thing cooked in the next two minutes?"

"No…"

"Then get tae Seven Hells out me kitchen!"

"I can help with the vegetables." Rowan gestured over to where a single boy was cutting carrots and onions.

Cook glanced once at him, seeing him nod eagerly, and exhaled in exasperation. "Fine, you can do that while he peels the potatoes! But cut yerself and don't come crying to me!"

Rowan did not bother to point out that she had served in a half dozen other kitchens before, and knew how to handle a knife. She simply pushed the boy aside and began to chop. Anything to get her out of the bedlam upstairs, where the king was struggling to keep his guests entertained.

Only when the food was finally plated did she venture out into the hall. As she was the first servant to emerge, she got to see the ravenous delight on the faces of their patrons at the sight of their food. In fact, the entire hall seemed to pause.

She set the plates before the king and queen, grinning as they both thanked her rather genuinely. She bowed and turned to leave when the queen caught her arm. Pulling her down, she whispered in her ear: "Send the cook up, would you?"

Insides chilled, Rowan mumbled her understanding and hurried off to fetch the poor woman, who had already taken her apron off by the time she opened the kitchen door.

"She wants to see me?"

Rowan nodded.

"I should think so." Cook wiped her greasy hands on her equally greasy dress and fidgeted with her hair. "Col there is trying to organize dessert. Be a dear and help him, would you?"

"Of course"

She set about cutting slivers of lemon cake and decorating them with fruit alongside a surly looking Col, who kept glancing at the door for Cook.

"When do you reckon she'll be back?" The boy asked as they set the bowls out on trays.

Rowan only shook her head.

She helped the other girls bring out the cakes. Uttering hurried blessings to the king and queen before striding off to a secluded corner. There she stood, casting her gaze about. Where was Cook? What had they done with her?

A shadow fell over her and she started. The Hound stood over her, sharp steel teeth close enough to tear her to shreds. In the darkness of that maw, silver eyes glinted out at her.

"No use look for her." He rasped. "The guards saw her out."

"Will they….?" Rowan's words caught in her throat.

"Kill her?" A rough laugh. "No, not even Queen Cersei is that much of a cunt. No, she'll get a salary and be able to find another job soon enough, with her experience. Not worth worrying about."

"I see." Behind him, she saw Margaret trying to catch her eye. "Thank you, but if you'll excuse me -"

She squeezed past him, hurrying over to where a stressed-looking Margaret was trying to calm Prince Jofferey as his mother looked on. The older woman grabbed her hand.

"The Princes and Princess asked for more. I sent Suzana down to fetch it, but -"

Rowan understood at once. "I'll check on her."

Without Cook and Col, the way to the kitchens was eerily silent. Rowan tiptoed down the stairs, wondering what on earth Suzana could be doing, when she heard a crash.

She took off, leaping down the remaining steps two at a time and bursting through the heavy door. Sure enough, her suspicions were confirmed: there stood poor Suzana, backed into a corner by one of the guards, who had her by the wrist and was twisting it at a vicious angle. With a roar, Rowan launched herself across the room, taking the man unawares and shoving him aside. Suzana wrenched her arm free and scurried off to one of the far corners as the man rounded on Rowan, murder in his eyes. A knife flashed, but did not strike, and her fist crunched into his face sending him reeling against the wall. The man shouted and swore, slashing at her as she danced away. Somewhere behind her she heard Suzana sob.

At last the man over swung, and she managed to grab hold of his knife hand, cracking the elbow across her knee to a wail of agony. She kicked the knife away as it hit the tiles and launched him toward the door -Where the Hound stood waiting. With little effort, he caught the toppling man and hauled him up by the neck. His silver eyes seemed to glow in the firelight.

"Now what the fuck is a shit like you doing down here, eh?" He snarled, unperturbed as the man kicked and gagged in his hand. "Thought you'd try your knife out on either of these, eh?"

" _Urk!"_

"You know, Brehman, I never did much like you." With his other hand, he grabbed the man's head and twisted until there was an audible  _crack_! In the corner, Suzana retched.

Rowan edged forward, peering at the heap on the floor with more curiosity than anything. "You killed him."

"Aye."

"Will this cause trouble for you? I mean, he was a guard after all -"

"I'll say he came at me with a knife. The queen will take me at my word, and he'll be as good as forgotten."

"I see…" Rowan spied the man's knife where it had skated under a table and retrieved it. "Will you need this?"

The Hound barely glanced at it before responding. "Give it to your friend. She could do with it."

She had almost forgotten about Suzana, who was now attempting to arrange the children's treats as tears streamed down her face. Rowan edged over to her, not wishing to startle her, and grabbing her hand pressed the knife into it.

"Keep it in your dress." She instructed. "If anyone tries that again, don't be afraid to use it."

The girl could only manage a teary nod. On the plates, the slices of cake were uneven, the fruit scattered about haphazardly. Rowan reaches for them. "I can take these, if you want to go to bed."

"No!" Suzana exclaimed, a little too loudly. With a nervous glance at the Hound, who still lingered by the door, she said: "I'd like to take them."

Rowan backed off, leaving the girl space to shuffle past. Both she and the Hound watched her go.

Rowan's gaze inevitability shifted back to the body.

"I'll get rid of it." He half-whispered. "Best if you don't touch it, lest the blame fall to you."

"Well I  _was_ part of it."

He looked her up and down once again. "Do you regret it?"

"No. You?"

"No."

Rowan smiled at him, and he shifted about. She could not help but wonder if he had followed her down, he had come so soon. Had he heard her scream and come running?

" _What?_ " He finally demanded.

"Thank you."

He was examining her now, with those shining eyes. In spite of herself, she felt her cheeks colour, and looked away. Had he seen?

There was still some cake on the counter, and fruit in the bowl, and it occurred to her that he had been watching over the queen and her family all evening. She gestured to it. "Would you like some?"

He looked from the food, to her, and back, and gave a small nod.

"Sit down and I'll get you some." She picked a bread knife from the block. "Wine?"

"Red." He responded almost reflexively. Then, as a child remembering his manners, added: "Please."

She cut two slices, piled a generous helping of fruit onto each, and poured two full cups of Dornish red. From the table, she knew he watched her every move, and a smile quirked the corners of her mouth once more. He seemed to hold his breath as she settled opposite him, only releasing it when she nudged his plate.

"Eat."


	4. The tourney

The castle was practically empty for the afternoon, as most people had abandoned their posts in favor of attending the Autumn tourney, which was taking place just outside the city walls. From her place by the sink, Rowan imagined she could hear the cheers of the crowd. It was high noon, and the jousting was about to start.

The new cook, Shanda, was not happy with the state of the kitchens, and had gotten them all up before dawn to scrub the place clean. Rowan had swept the floors, cleared mouse traps, cleaned under the counters, and even scraped grime from between the flagstones. Now, sore and weary, she had been set to scrubbing the massive black pots under the implication that if she finished quickly, she might be allowed outside. Behind her, Suzana was attacking the dust-encrusted windows with equal vigour.

"Who is taking part today?" She called back. "In the tourney?"

"Oh, I hear everyone is entering at least one event." Margaret replied from under one of the tables. "Ser Meryn and Ser Gregor are in for the joust. Not against each other, mind you. Ser Boros and Sandor Clegane are in for single combat…"

"What about Ser Jaime, will he fight?" Suzana asked, a blush starting in her cheeks.

"I've not heard of it, but I'd imagine he'll enter the single combat events." Margaret answered.

Suzana made a whining noise. "Oh, and I'm stuck here wiping windows."

"You're almost done." Rowan commented. "Once I've finished this last pot I'll help, and we can go together. Margaret, will you join us?"

"Ugh, no." The older woman scooted out from under the table and stood up, clutching at her back. "Too much violence for my liking. Nay, I'll be far happier here."

Rowan finished her pot, and set about helping Suzana with the last few panes. Despite the other girl's whining, they were done soon enough, and saying their goodbyes to Margaret for the day. In their room, they quickly changed, and Rowan fished some coins out of the bottom of her trunk, which she split with a wide-eyed Suzana.

"Oh, but this is too much!" Suzana tried to hand the money back.

"Nonsense." Rowan laughingly slapped her hand away. "I want us to enjoy ourselves, and I'll be miserable if you can't buy yourself wine nor food. Just take it!"

Suzana clutched the few pennies to her chest with a nod. "I'll pay you back -"

"Don't concern yourself with it."

Luckily for Rowan, Suzana seemed to be far more familiar with the city than she. The girl led her out of the keep and down the narrow, twisting streets which all looked the same to her companion. In contrast to the Red Keep, the residents of the lower quarters did not seem to know that a tourney was taking place. They bustled past them, going about their daily business, some loudly wondering what could have two ladies such as them in a hurry. The guards at the gate eyed them with unbridled envy - no doubt they knew people down on the tourney field, and would give their right arms to be able to watch them.

The noise from the field grew with every step, until the colorful tents and pavilions came into sight, at which point the shouting from onlookers seemed a palpable force. Suzana grabbed Rowan's hand and led her hurriedly through the maze of makeshift buildings, only stopping briefly for them both to buy some wine. Rowan ordered a bag of roasted nuts as well, the aroma wafting mockingly up to her as they sought somewhere to watch the events. Some of the castle staff sat on the dirt around the king's pavilion, and Suzana led her there, waving to two more girls their age as they nudged their way up to them. The people around them grudgingly moved aside, and Rowan was finally able to sit. She hadn't even time to look at her food before the others began to shout; looking toward the field, she saw that Ser Meryn had ridden forth on his great grey mare. Opposite him on a white stallion waited a knight in elaborate armour, bearing the mark of House Tyrell.

"Oh, why that's Ser Loras!" Rowan observed, taking him in. "He's come a long way."

"That's right!" Suzana said. "You used to work for the Tyrells, didn't you?"

"Yes, but I rarely saw Loras around much. He was usually keeping company with…"

She looked around until she spotted him. There, seated next to his brother, a wide grin plastered across his face. She nodded in his direction. "...with Renly Baratheon."

But Suzana and the others were hardly paying attention to her, for the men had taken their starting positions. At a bark from King Robert they shot off, charging down the green at one another. It was a close pass. They rounded and came again, Meryn's lance just clipping Loras on the side. The third time Loras aimed true, hitting Meryn in the center of the chest. The bigger man wheezed and slipped from his saddle. At the king's side, Lord Renly gave a delighted hoot and whistled for his friend.

Loras, as it turned out, was a fine jouster, and by the time the afternoon was done had risen to first place, much to Meryn's ire. The latter spat as the king rained praises on Loras, skulking off to drink his shame away. Rowan leaned over to Suzana.

"I thought Ser Gregor was meant to be jousting?"

"He was." Hollie, one of the other girls interjected. "The king disqualified him for stabbing Ser Loras' squire."

"Oh dear, I hope he's alright."

"He'll live, which is lucky for him."

Rowan's gaze drifted up to the Hound, who stood still as a statue behind the queen. To her surprise, she found him looking back, and turned away at once, face reddening. Surely he hadn't heard them? Another glance proved he had already turned away, and she frowned. What did he think of his brother's behavior? Did it shame him? Or did he care at all? Would he have taken a knife to the boy as well?

She thought of the crack that man's neck had made, of the Hound telling her not to worry, he would take the blame.

_Not without good reason._ She concluded.

The hand-to-hand proved exceedingly dull, with all of the favorites claiming victory as everyone had predicted. To Suzana's delight, Ser Jaime faced off against another young knight, utterly trouncing him in a matter of minutes. Both she had the queen gave him a standing ovation.

The last battle of the day proved the most exciting, as the Hound faced off against Ser Barristan, having already introduced Ser Boros to the ground in an insultingly short match. Sandor Clegane was big and strong and surprisingly agile, but Barristan had experience on his side. He kept the much larger man on his toes for most of the fight, until it seemed he would tire the old Dog out. Rowan could see that Clegane was being to make mistakes, and even tripped once or twice. Fortunately he was quick enough to fend off the aging knight whenever he edged closer. The two danced around each other for an age; coding, blocking and parrying until they were both panting with exhaustion. In the end, it was Barristan who made the final mistake, coming too close when it seemed like the Hound wasn't looking. His sword struck the yellow shield, and Clegane brought his sword down on his hand. Had he not been wearing gauntlets, Ser Barristan probably would have lost his fingers that day, but as things were it only caused him to release his sword, which the Hound immediately kicked away. A sharp elbow to the back sent the knight to his knees, and Clegane pressed his steel to his neck. Being the sensible man he was, Barristan yielded, and a scattered applause broke out as he shook Sandor Clegane's hand.

At the end of the day, the Hound came third, with Ser Jaime somehow achieving second, and Ser Loras winning first prize. Suzana, Hollie and Gaile somehow managed to convince a sleepy Rowan to stay awhile and enjoy the post-tourney festivities. In truth, she could not see much difference between these celebrations and the chaos she had witnessed upon entering, save that the combatants were now among them, indulging in non-financial benefits of victory. She even spotted the disqualified Gregor Clegane with a flagon in his hand and a whore on his knee, laughing along with Ser Boros.

It seemed inevitable that she would lose the others, so when it finally happened Rowan found herself uncharacteristically calm. They had probably gone for more wine, so she wandered about the tents peering about for Gaile's obnoxiously orange shawl. She was so busy looking that she walked headlong into Sandor Clegane.

"Shit!" He exclaimed, quickly steadying the hand which held his wine. "The fuck you at, woman!"

"Sorry, I…" Spotting some orange, she turned her head. No, another squire. "I seem to have lost my companions."

"Not the safest place to get lost, this." He remarked. "The men have fought and now they're looking for somewhere to dip their wicks. Even a kitchen wench like yourself would do."

He was leering at her now, having abandoned his helm the gods only knew where, she could see his expression as he himself considered her, and Rowan found herself becoming flustered. She needed to find her friends, and she needed to get through this crowd unmolested. So she put on her sweetest face and smiled up at the Hound.

"I, um...don't suppose you could help me find them?"

He glared down at her for long enough that she thought he might hit her, yet still she smiled. After a time he sighed. " _Fine."_

Again, she felt the heat of his hand at her back, and pressed herself right up against him as he led her through the crowds. More than a few people looked, and one or two of the soldiers seemed likely to jeer until they looked up at the Hound. Yes, this was the best way to get out safely.

He shook he flagon in front of her face. "Wine?"

She took it with thanks, filling her mouth with the rich red goodness. So much better than the watered down piss the servants got. This she could savor.

"Do you think they've gone back without me?"

"Could have."

"I don't fancy going back by myself at this hour." She said, moving further into him as a drunken squire lurched far too near for her liking. The Hound put his arm across her shoulders, heavy yet comforting.

"I'll walk you back."

"Oh, I wouldn't want to inconvenience you…"

His hand squeezed, thumb caressing her arm through her sleeve. He muttered something about "...my pleasure."

"Rowan! Rowan!" Suzana appeared in front of them and stopped short, shooting Sandor Clegane a scrutinizing look. He breathed a few curses to himself as he pushed Rowan toward her friend. She turned meaning to thank him, only to pause as he opened his mouth to say something. Another glance at Suzana and he growled before stalking off.

Suzana had her by the shoulders at once. "By the gods Rowan, I'm so sorry. Are you… Did he hurt you?"

She near laughed. "No, he just wanted to help me find you."

"' _Just'?"_

"Well, maybe not  _just_. But nothing happened."

"And what would have happened if you couldn't find me?"

"He offered to walk me back."

" _Walk you back!?_ " Suzana was becoming more hysterical the more she spoke, and Rowan struggled to shush her. "And what would have happened when he got you alone, eh? He had the nerve to put his hands on you in public, just imagine what he'd be like alone!"

Rowan had imagined it, and concluded that she did not quite mind what she pictured. This must have shown on her face, for Suzana let go of her at once, aghast.

"Oh but you can't be serious….  _Rowan…_  He's the Hound!"

"I know that."

"But he's….! He's….!" The girl spluttered.

Rowan shrugged. "I don't think he's all that bad."

Suzana's mouth snapped shut. She stared at Rowan for a moment, as though weighing the truth of all she'd said. At length she simply nodded, defeated.

"Alright, alright. I'm just glad you're in one piece."


	5. Heavy-handed

The day after the tourney, and half the castle had decreed themselves too hungover to leave their rooms, or do much at all. So the servants had to work overtime, running to and fro in response to this or that summons.

Rowan was hiding in the kitchen, as had become her habit. Shanda didn't mind, as long she did chores for her. But in truth the chef was so busy that she kept forgetting to tell her what to do. So long as Rowan sat quietly by the pantry door, she could go hours without being given any work.

Presently, a girl came down looking for Ser Meryn's dinner. A young girl, hardly older than fourteen. Shanda had a whole tray ready and was about to shove her out the door before she even looked at her.

"No, girl, you're not bringing that to him. You're just about small enough."

The girl looked at her questioningly, but Rowan caught her meaning immediately. Extracting herself from the corner, she handed a rag to the young one.

"The tables over there need cleaning." She instructed, pushing her away from the tray. "Best get on with it."

Shanda nodded her approval as Rowan picked up the heavy tray. "Don't you linger with him either, Dear. He might just try something."

She took her time about climbing the narrow servants' stair, edges of the tray digging into her palms as she went. How much did the man eat? She had half a mind to peek under the lid, but that was just asking for a beating. There had been a girl a few months before who had tried picking at the trays she was given and, well, she disappeared fairly quickly.

"Last door on the left…" She whispered to herself, stopping outside what she hoped was the correct room. Not having a free hand, she knocked with her elbow. A faint clanking inside and Meryn Grant answered, still in full armor, save for his helmet. He glared at her as she strode it.

"Took your fucking time getting it."

Rowan swallowed her fear as it crept up her throat. He still had not moved from the door, though his dinner was now on the table.

"I apologize, Ser. The cook is rather busy and -"

"You think I fucking care about your excuses, wench?" He interrupted. "I asked for my food over an hour ago."

There was no other choice, she had to get around him in order to get to the door, so the edged closer, ready to fly in an instant.

"I really am sorry, Ser." She attempted to shuffle past him as he still held the door partially open. "The other girl only told us -"

She was too slow. Faster than she could realize he slammed her up against the stone wall, landing a blow clean across the cheek. She bit her tongue and tasted blood.

" _The fuck did I say about excuses you stupid bitch!?"_ He roared into her face.

Still dazed from the punch, all she could do was stare dumbly up at him. When he pulled her away from the wall, she had no strength to resist, and when he threw her to the cold stone of the passage floor, she fell in a heap like a ragdoll.

She lay there for what felt like an age, head swimming, face exploding in bright-coloured pain. When at last she felt like her limbs might obey, she rolled onto her knees. Pressing had fingers to her cheek proved a mistake, as the sensation sent an agonizing jolt through her entire skull. Coppery taste of blood lingered in her mouth, and she spat onto the floor until it turned clear.

Well aware that Trant might come out to finish her while she lingered there, Rowan carefully picked herself. Using the wall for support, she picked her way back down the stair to the kitchen.

The look on Shanda's face when she walked through the door was enough to tell her if it had begun to bruise or not. The cook almost dropped a bowlful of stew at the mere sight of her.

"By the gods, Margaret, look at her!"

Margaret, who had been waiting to receive the stew, turned and gasped,

"Mother be good, Rowan, what happened?"

She slumped miserably into a chair. "Trant."

Margaret was over at once, touching her arms and legs, looking in her eyes. "Suzana, take that food up. Shanda, be good and get me something cold to put on this. Did he harm you anywhere else, sweetheart?"

"No, Margaret. The punch was more than enough."

"You don't feel ill at all, do you?"

"No."

Shanda came with a jug of ice milk, a favorite of Lord Tyrion's. Margaret pressed the whole thing to the side of Rowan's face, cooing at her when she winced.

"Your teeth? Are they intact?"

"Uh-huh. I bit my tongue." She answered, sticking it out.

Margaret looked. "It's a bit raw but it'll be fine. I'll get you some water, though rinse your mouth with it."

Rowan did what she was told, spitting the bloodied backwash into a bowl which Margaret held for her. Satisfied that there were no loose teeth. The older woman let go of her.

"Take a few drinks of that cold milk, too. I'm sure the Imp won't miss it, and it will sooth you."

Rowan drank gladly, letting the freezing liquid wash over her tongue until it was almost numb. Shanda took it from her and wiped the lip of the jug before putting it back. Only then did Suzana enter the room. Seeing Rowan, she put a hand delicately to her mouth as she gasped. "What -"

"Ser Meryn and his godforsaken temper!" Margaret spat. "No doubt there's a broken bone or two there, and naught we can do about it but wait and see how it heals."

Rowan tested her cheek again, feeling the swelling. If anything was out of place she could not feel it. But she genuinely did not know what to look for.

"Oh, but Lady Margaret, she has been asked for!"

The all took pause at this, and Rowan scoffed in spite of the ache. "Who in the world has asked for me?"

"Why the Hound, of course!" Suzana replied. "'Some wine, and send the redhead up with it.'. What did you expect, striding around with him like that yesterday?"

"Like what?" Margaret queried, side-eyeing Rowan.

"It was nothing, Margaret. We only talked." Rowan stood, feeling far steadier on her feet now. "Where's the sour red?"

Margaret's face turned. "You cannot mean to go up to him, not after what's just happened! Imagine he decided to lay into you, too!"

"He won't." Rowan stated matter-of-factly. "Shanda, the Dornish, please."

Almost as soon as she knocked, Sandor Clegane called her in, which she had fully expected. She entered his chambers to find him busily washing at the basin. It gave her pause, being the first time she had ever seen him out of his armor, clad only in some brown breeches and a white tunic. With some satisfaction she noted that he was still gigantic, and eagerly took in the sight of his thick arms, broad chest, even the sturdy calves that showed below the cuffs of his trousers. She almost missed the table, she was staring so hard.

"Your fool of a friend forgot my wine." He grumbled, splashing water on his face.

"I apologize, we've been rather busy this evening." She responded softly, her previous exchange playing in her mind.

He let out a disgruntled  _hmph_! "I suppose everyone is staying in. I know I've been in no fucking state to be at court."

She forced a smile, but all of a sudden felt the need to leave. What would happen when he saw her? Would he really give two shits, as she hoped, that Ser Meryn had raised a hand to her? So, instead of responding she decided to back quietly out of the room.

Of course that didn't work. Smelling a rat, he immediately straightened, staring right at her. She turned her head away.

"What's wrong with you?" His voice was uncharacteristically soft.

She froze, uncertain. Out of the corner of her eye she could see him creeping closer, bare feet not making a sound on the stone floor. Did he not feel cold?

"I asked you a question, girl." He leaned forward, trying to peer at her face, but she only turned away again. " _Look at me!"_

He grabbed her by the chin, no doubt meaning to turn her head, but the force of it sent a shock of sensation into her bruised cheek, causing her to yelp and step back. She looked at him then, tears pricking in her eyes. A strange look came over his face then, and he reached for her, and pulled her gently by the arm into the light of the candles on the table.

"Who was it?" He urged, palm pressed in a comforting way against her arm. "Which one of those cunts did this?"

"Ser Meryn." She answered numbly. "I was late with his food."

"And I reckon you won't be again." He remarked. "No, don't look away, girl. Let me see."

This time she met his eyes, finding them dulled as he took in the damage. Slowly, he lifted his hand to it and prodded, causing her to cry out. He had the sense to grab her before she could retreat.

"Fucking stop that!" He scolded, the fierceness momentarily returning to his features. "I'm trying to help you!"

With agonisingly slow movements, he worked his fingers against her face, as though searching for something. When he found it, his mouth pulled into a thin line, and he pressed. Rowan was certain she must have screamed then, and the world went bright and then black as he steadied her. Somewhere in the back of her mind she heard a  _click_ , and he stopped.

"Here, sit down." He pushed her into a chair.

The pain was receding now, and she managed to smile at him. He poured a cupful of wine and pressed it into her hand. "It'll help with the pain."

She took a sip, watching as he sat opposite, lifting the whole flagon to his mouth and taking a long measure.

"Thank you."

He grunted.


	6. Five Dragons

Her cheek had healed nicely, and Ser Meryn now no longer looked at her when she brought his food. Even Suzana remarked that he hardly said two words to her. Rowan didn't bother to tell her she had the Hound to thank, but secretly began to sneak him extra portions whenever she could. Not that he sent for meals frequently; he oftentimes sat with the other guards at mealtimes. It occurred to Rowan that some of these men even liked him, or so she'd seen whenever she served them. It cast a much better light on Sandor Clegane in general, and she began to look forward to the occasions when he asked for her. Not only because he gave her wine.

Suzana had begun to notice the attention she paid him as well, having more than once watched her slip an extra slice of cake onto his tray. And it became rather clear that she did not approve.

"I know you said to find someone to keep you." She hissed one evening as Rowan was about to go up. "But  _think_ about what you're doing here. People aren't afraid of him for nothing!"

"I am well aware of that. But he's given me no reason to mistrust him." She replied, pushing past with her tray.

He was polishing his helmet at the table when she arrived, and hurriedly cleared a space for the tray. He didn't touch it as she placed it down, but continued to wipe at the Dog's pointed ears.

"Let me do that." She offered, extending her hand. "Eat, while it's still warm."

"You won't do it right." He grumbled.

"Forgive my assumption, but it doesn't look too difficult."

He narrowed his eyes at her, then shoved both helm and cloth into her hands. "If it's not done properly -"

"You'll skin me, I know."

His mouth twitched like he was fighting a grin, and he pushed the tin of polish over to her.

The Dog was heavier than he looked, and he looked heavy enough. Rowan set him in her lap as she scrubbed his ear, the blank eyes glaring up at her.

"Is he one of your dogs?" She asked. "Or is this just how he was made?"

Clegane eyed her from over his food. "'He'?"

"She?"

"It's a helmet."

" _He_ is a dog."

The Hound shook his head and turned to his food. Unsatisfied, Rowan continued: "What's his name?"

"He doesn't fucking have one you mad bitch." There, again, that ghost of a smile as he inspected his lamb.

She only chuckled to herself. Turning the helm sideways, she began to work on the crinkled sides of its snout.

"...We had a big mastiff named Toby." Clegane told her finally. "I had it modelled after him."

Rowan patted the Dog's head. "Toby."

The Hound snorted, and she looked up. To her delight, she found him laughing quietly into his cup. She grinned. A success.

"Do they breed you like this..." He gestured to her with his fork. "Up north **?"**

She shrugged. "Like what?"

"Nevermind."

"Do they breed you like this down south?" She echoed, jabbing the cloth at him.

"No."

She laughed. "True, you do have more of a northern demeanor."

"Watch it."

"It's a compliment, I assure you."

She set Toby on the table, working on his lower teeth now. Clegane had finished his food and was observing her work.

"How do you mean that?" He asked at length.

"Hm?"

"How is it a compliment?"

"Um…" She thought about it. "Well, you're far more direct than your counterparts."

"You mean  _honest_."

"Right. That's how Free Folk tend to be. If we don't like someone, we fucking tell them. No tiptoeing around the subject."

They were quiet for a while, with only the squeak of her cloth against the Dog's teeth to be heard. She put the blackened rag down and turned him. Unable to find another spot, she held him up. "Done?"

Sandor Clegane nodded. "Done."

She stood and strode over to his suit, which stood lifeless in the corner. One look at it told her she could not reach well enough to attach the helm. Behind her, she heard Clegane splashing in the basin.

"Leave it on the stool." He instructed. "I'll fix it myself."

"Right." She set Toby down and gave him one last pat on the head. Turning, she found Clegane watching her again. "Is there anything else, my lord?"

He made a face at the 'my lord', but did not rise to it. Instead, he calmly returned to the table, and picking up his leather purse, began to count coins out into his hand.

"As a matter of fact, there is." He set them in a neat stack on the table. Rowan looked from them to his face. He seemed to hesitate, and she saw his throat bob as he swallowed. "I'll pay you to suck my cock."

Rowan felt herself turn pink, but she approached nonetheless. Gold glinted it her eyes as she counted. Five whole dragons, more than some whores made in a night. As she drew nearer, she could sense the Hound's apprehension. Rowan touched the coins, letting them fall one by one as though counting them.

"Look, if you don't want to, forget it." He muttered. "I won't force you."

She knew he wouldn't. Knew he was on edge waiting for her response. When she picked up the money, slipping it into the pocket of her gown, he exhaled loudly. He was so jittery that he damn near backed away when she reached for his belt, eyes alight as they fixed on her. Rowan took her time about unbuckling him, pressing her lips to his exposed collarbone as she tugged at his laces, the sound of his ragged breathing filling her ears.

He was already half-hard by the time she had his breeches open. She slipped her hand against his skin, feeling the rough thatch of black hair, making him wriggle. She grinned. He did not disappoint. Rowan closed her fingers around his member, stroking it slowly, kissing his neck as he gasped. She worked him until he was hard as steel, until his grunting bordered on impatient.

Grasping his length in one hand, his shirt in the other, she tugged him back until she could sit in her chair. He shakily shoved his trousers down, fully exposing himself to her. She teased his head with her thumb, meeting his eyes, now glowing with lust. They went wide when she flicked her tongue against his tip. Still pumping slowly with her hand, she proceeded to lick him from top to shaft, chuckling at the muted noises he made. When she finally paid attention to that sweet spot under his head, he moaned aloud, bucking slightly. She could finish him this way, she knew, but that wasn't what either of them wanted.

Rowan looked up at him as she sucked the tip into her mouth, watched his eyes hood as he brushed a few loose strands of hair out of her face. She swallowed at much as she could and his eyes closed completely. He braced himself with one hand against the tabletop, the other gathering her braid to the back of her head, gripping it like a drowning man to a cast rope. When she began to move along the length of him, a soft moan escaped his lips, and he barred his teeth against any other sound.

For her own pleasure more than his, she snaked her free hand under his shirt, stroking the taut muscle and rough hair she found under her fingers. He seemed to like it, and stood free from the table to tug his tunic off. Rowan smiled around his cock, sucking him hard as a reward, and he whined. As she touched where she willed, she also removed her hand from his shaft to caress his balls. She almost laughed as he made the most confused sound, and paused lest he ask her to stop. Rather, she felt them tighten in her palm, and knew he would be done quite quickly. Had anyone ever given him this kind of attention? She doubted it. And now she had him in the palm of her hand.

Grasping him once more, she expertly brought her tongue over his tip, playing once more against his soft spot. He began to groan aloud now, thrusting slowly up into her mouth. His left hand fisted tightly and tugged at her hair, demanding more as his right came slamming back down to the table, balancing him as he uttered one last guttural, half-strangled moan, filling her mouth with his seed.

She pumped every last drop out of him before releasing him, letting him watch, breathless as she licked her lips. He looked so vulnerable now, all the rage drained from his features, his eyes sleepy and even a little warm. When she kissed his hip, he stroked her cheek. When she touched his chest, he covered her hand with his and pulled her up.

What she did not expect was for him to press his lips to hers. At once Rowan froze, unable to respond, but he held her to him, capturing first her bottom, then the top in a way that made her feel warm all over.

_Fuck it_. She looped arms around his neck, pulling him down, kissing him hard back, and he growled, squeezing her arse, delving his tongue into her mouth so that she took her turn to moan. She cupped his face, wanting more, but he broke away. He gazed down on her, his eyes burning yellow-grey in the candle light as they ventured down to the tops of her breasts.

"You'll come again?" He was telling her more than asking, but she nodded all the same.


	7. Errands

Suzana had been sent to tend to the queen, and Margaret had ordered Rowan to sweep and clean their room. Fair enough, it wasn't a difficult task; she and the other girl slept in a box barely large enough to fit two narrow beds, separated by a small table, and a lopsided wash stand.

Before she did anything, though, she dragged her chest out from under her bed. It contained little save a few keepsakes from her past: a bone knife from her father, a short axe with dragonglass head, her old fur cloak, taken straight off the back of the white bear she had slain on her first hunt. The beast's very skull lay under it, fashioned into a rather effective helm. Touching the snout, she wondered what Sandor Clegane would think of it. As of yet he knew nothing of it. What would he say when he saw the bite mark on her shoulder, the lines its claws had made in her back? Would he be impressed?

She put it aside. Questions for another day. The very last thing was her purse, now bursting with gold thanks to her patron. More coin than she knew what to do with. Far too much to leave here.

From her pocket she pulled the pouches she had fashioned from scraps. A handful of coins went into each one, ringing pleasantly against one another. When she was done, there were five purses in all. The big one went back under her belongings. The next she stuffed into her mattress, burying it in straw. A third found its place behind a brick she had pried loose from the wall. The fourth and final one she hid under the creaking board by the washstand and prayed no rats got at it.

While she was changing the bed linens, Shanda knocked on the door. Rowan called her in and she peeked into the room. Seeing Rowan with one knee on the bed, busily tucking a clean sheet under the heavy mattress, she bowed slightly.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, but the queen has requested to have beef tonight and we're short of seasoning. I need to to go out and pick up a few things. Bring Suzana with you, she'll help you find your way."

"Right." Rowan replied. "Just give me a minute and I'll be done here. I'll come to the kitchen shortly."

Shanda nodded and closed the door after herself. As soon as her steps faded down the passage, Rowan slid her hand into her mattress and extracted the purse full of coins. Slipping this into her dress, she hastily fixed the two beds and ran to the kitchen.

Suzana was more than happy to accompany her on her errand, merrily swinging the satchel Shanda had given them as they strolled along the Trident. It was a bright afternoon, but cool, and despite the long walk Rowan hardly broke a sweat.

The market they had been sent to was by far not the best in the city, but it was where the middle-classes were to be found, so Shanda and Margaret had cleaned them up accordingly. They still looked like servants, but people would know they came from the Red Keep and treat them properly.

Rowan had the better memory, so she spoke to the shopkeeps while Suzana handled the money. Coming from beyond the Wall, even after all of these years, she could not understand how one of the bronze ones equalled to an apple, one of the silver for a ribbon or some stockings. As for the gold ones she had hidden away, she had seen them exchanged for daughters, horses, jewels and coats alike. She knew she would be swindled without the other girl's help.

But herbs and spices, food and drink, those she knew. She could tell a bad sprig of rosemary from a fresh one, a newly-plucked chicken from one left out. And wine, she had always had a good nose for wine. She checked the produce while Suzana kept the vendors in check, and when they were done they had change leftover for Shanda.

"We could always buy a few apples." Suzana mused. "A whole bunch. I'm sure she wouldn't mind if we for them for everyone."

"We'll get the apples, and plenty else besides." Rowan told her.

Suzana stopped. "But we shouldn't -"

"We won't use Shanda's money. Come on."

They had passed through this street on the way down, Rowan had marked it in her mind. There, on the corner was the shop that had caught her eye. She took Suzana's hand as they entered.

The other girl's face lit up. They were second-hand, all of these dresses, but they were far nicer - far newer - than anything either of them owned. For once, Rowan imagined donning a colour other than grey or brown. She could see the same thought passing through Suzana's head.

"But how can we afford any of these?" The other girl questioned.

"I'll cover it."

"But how -"

"Don't worry about that, just pick one."

Suzana had wasted no time, and was already fitted out in a pale green gown by the time Rowan came to a decision. It had caught her eye as soon as they'd entered, but she'd not been sure. It was nothing too showy, of course, and she had warned Suzana to pick something similarly reserved. But it was the colour - a muted yellow. Would it seem too presumptuous, wearing his house colour? Or would he like it? Once again, her thoughts looped back to  _would he care?_

She liked the colour, though, and Suzana had said it suited her complexion. So she settled on it.

If he didn't like it, he'd just have to take it off her.


	8. In the shadows

Another day, another banquet. Smaller this time, but her feet ached no less. It was a good excuse to wear her dress all the same, and it made her feel far more confident as she ran herself ragged.

From across the hall, she caught Suzana smiling at her. She looked stunning in pale green, and had left her hair mostly free. Thanks to her coercion, Rowan had done the same, only tying back the foremost section. But where Suzana looked pretty, she felt untidy. When she found herself alone, she ended up brushing her fingers through the frizzy ends, wishing she had been blessed with smoother locks.

The Hound stood in his usual spot by the high table, eyes watching all under the shadow of his helm. Had he seen her? Did he note the colour of the dress? She found herself glancing at him all evening, trying to read his mind, but he yielded nothing.

With most of the guests finally gone to bed. She trudged down the stairs to the kitchen. As usual, she was one of the last on duty, and was appropriately weary. She dumped her trayful of dirty dishes onto the counter for one of the boys, intending to go to bed if no-one stopped her.

The Hound met her in the hallway, dragging her out of sight into a secluded passage, one huge hand clamped over her mouth. He pressed her bodily up against the wall. With the cold stone in front, and his cold armor behind her, she could not move as he pawed at her. He pressed his lips to her neck, nibbling at the soft flesh of her earlobe. Not a word passed between them, not as he tugged at the ties of her dress, not when he shoved a hand down her neckline to cup her breast. She gasped slightly as he pinched her nipple, but that was all.

The telltale jingle of his buckle in the dark, and he removed her hand from the wall to wrap it tightly around his growing erection. She understood, and stroked him eagerly, breath catching as he nuzzled her, palms kneading her exposed teats.

He began to pull up her skirts, and she reached with him, not caring that anyone might come upon them here. That was part of the fun. He didn't want much, she knew, only to touch her. Her hand around him was enough, but she treated him to the soft flesh of her thighs in a way that made him shiver and buck. His hands traced all the lines of skin he could find, even venturing close to her smallclothes. She wondered if he knew how wet he was making her.

As though reading her mind, he pushed one hand into the flimsy shorts, touching her clumsily. Did he know how to…? She placed her hand over his and guided him, whimpering when he touched her right.

Without warning, he shuddered and came on her leg. Too soon, too soon, she almost wept with disappointment. He kissed her cheek and she met him with her lips, willing him to stay, to touch her a little more. Which he appeared glad to do.

As he claimed her mouth with his, he pushed a finger into her. Desperately, she held his wrist there.  _Just like that_.  _Don't stop._

He did, but only to turn her to him. Returning his hand to its place, she saw him smile when she gasped.  _He likes this_. Well she did too, so she met his gaze as he pleasured her, letting him know he was doing right in hushed tones, showing how to tease her nub so that she near moaned aloud. She was close, so deliciously close. No doubt he could feel it, as he clapped his hand over her mouth. Her fingers curled against his breastplate as he worked her to her peak, moaning wantonly into his palm.

Only when she was completely silent once more did he dare to kiss her, removing his hand and righting her skirt. A fleeting, soft kiss during which five coins clinked into her pocket, and he was backing away. They had had enough of these encounters for her to know that she should wait behind, lest they be seen together, but she still hated to watch him go, his huge figure referring into the shadows. She fancied she saw him raise his fingers to his face and giggled to herself.


	9. Clean

Margaret interrupted them as they were sweeping one of the lower passages. Poor Suzana, who had helped with breakfast, slumped, exhausted against the wall, shaking out her callused hands and wiping her brow. Rowan took the opportunity to stretch her aching back.

"Lord Clegane has called for a bath." She announced, looking at the two of them apologetically. She didn't see Rowan's expression, but Suzana did, and quirked an eyebrow. "You two are needed to help carry up the water, come on."

Suzana complained loudly, tossing her broom to the floor. " _Dick head!_ "

Margaret shot her a Look as Rowan sniggered behind her hand.

The copper tub had already been set up as they entered, Rowan nudging a moody Suzana through the door as she strained under the weight of her bucket. The other girl, who was carrying far less water, unceremoniously dumped it out without a glance at their lord, who was seated at his usual chair, enjoying his usual wine. Hence she failed to recognize that he wore nothing but his breeches.

Rowan noticed. Rowan took a good long look. She had seen it all before, but that did not take away from the sight of his bare chest and shoulders. A smile played at his lips, and he sat up, stretching his legs out in front of him.

It seemed a grave injustice that she had to turn away, and go back to where Margaret and one of the other maids were pulling the water. Suzana, unusually quiet, did not meet her eye the whole way down and back up the stairs.

With the tub filled, Rowan set the steel rack across it, and Suzana arranged a number of bottles in a neat line. The Hound stood, and to Suzana's horror began to undo his trousers.

"You." He barked at her. "Out.  _You_. Stay."

"Lady Margaret instructed that we were to -"

" _Out!"_

She recoiled, turning to Rowan. She mouthed the words  _I'm sorry_ , eyes full of dread. Rowan smiled a genuine smile.  _It's fine._

Clearly perplexed, her friend hurried out.

A splash, and she looked to see Sandor Clegane up to his chest in the warm water. He snatched a cloth from the rack and wrung it harder than necessary.

"She's afraid of me, your friend." He observed. "Thinks I'm out to hurt you."

"Yes," Rowan agreed, leaning on the edge of the tub and taking the wet rag from him. "You must forgive her, she knows you only by reputation."

He huffed as she soaped the cloth and ran it over his arm. "You'd think the wench would appreciate that I paid for her pretty new dress."

Rowan paused. His mouth twisted in a grin. "You thought I didn't notice? You almost didn't look like kitchen wenches, the two of you. And with your hair like that...well, I can't be blamed for coming after you like that, can I?"

She bit her lip, smiling as she resumed her task. She could feel those silver eyes on her again, burning into her.

"But you didn't mind it, did you?" He went on. "You liked what I did. Don't say you didn't."

She frowned. "Why would I say that?"

A bark of a laugh. "Oh, you really aren't the same, are you?"

Puzzled, she could only stare blankly at him. He grinned wider.

"If you were a southern girl, you'd never have let me do that. And you certainly wouldn't admit to liking it."

"Why not?"

He thought for a moment. "I don't know what cunt made the rules, or why. But that's how it is."

"Sounds fucking stupid." She muttered.

He snorted, genuinely laughing now. It looked good on him, his expression open and happy, his grey eyes dark with warmth. When he finally collected himself, he reached over to touch her grey sleeve.

"Why don't you wear it for me?"

"The dress?" She replied. "It's too good to wear every day. I'd hate to get it dirty."

Now he looked confused. "Just wash it."

"But then I'd end up wearing this anyway." She laughed, looking down at the roughspun grey gown.

"Don't you have anything else?"

"No."

"But I gave you…" He tried to calculate, then shook his head. "I don't know how fucking much I gave you. Enough for a room full of clothes, I'd guess! What did you do with it all?"

"I...I have it." She answered.

"You didn't spend it?"

"No."

"Why?"

She considered this. "I suppose I'm worried… People might ask where I got the money. Might think I stole it"

He scoffed. "Just tell them I bought them for you. Don't say anything about the money, not if you want to keep some of it!"

"But I…" She attempted. "...wouldn't that bother you?"

"What?"

"If I let people know I was…"

He raised a hand to silence her, twisting so that they were face to face. "Do you know what people would think, if they knew?"

"What?"

" _How the fuck did that ugly cunt convince a girl like that to suck his dick?"_ His eyes narrowed. "The people here think I can't get a wench to save my life, even with coin. I'd be delighted if you proved them wrong."

Rowan stared for a long while as he sat back, eyes still locked on her. "I didn't think about it that way."

She soaped the cloth again and began to wash his chest. He watched silently as she did so, and when she did his other arm too. There was no reading his expression; he had mastered it too well.

Rowan moved around, filling a jug from the tub and gently tilting his head back to rinse his hair. He closed his eyes, uncomfortably silent as she soaped and washed his long black mane. She chose an oil from the three provided and rubbed it into his ends.

With his hair pushed back like this, the extent of the damage to his face was laid bare to her, and she slowly took it in. She never knew a house fire to burn how enough to melt an ear, not easily. It had occurred to her long ago that it had not been an accident that maimed him, and now she was sure.

Brushing her fingers lightly against his cheek caused his eyes to snap open, and fix, blazing on her. Rowan traced the line of his thinly-clad jaw, marveling at how soft it was.

"Does it hurt?" She asked, meeting his gaze.

"No." He answered softly. "It feels tight, sometimes, but it hasn't hurt in a long time."

She pressed her whole hand against the scarred flesh, feeling the bumps and crevices, observing the effect her touch had as his face relaxed into something nigh to vulnerability. Leaning down, she kissed it, brow, cheek, jaw, then mouth. He looked so very confused when she drew back.

He licked his lips. "Come here."

Rowan undressed slowly, well aware that she had an audience, well aware that now he would see everything. Her dress hung over her chair, and she laid her chemise over it. Her undergarments took some time in unlacing, but she heard no complaints. It seemed her observer appreciated her taking her time.

When she turned, she saw his open-mouthed stare and giggled. "Does it please my lord?"

"You know fucking well it pleases. Now come  _here."_

Rowan stepped into the tub, and he yanked her down so that she faced him, legs either side of his thighs. She dipped her hand into the water and he caught it, pressing her palm to his chest instead.

"I don't want that, not just yet." He told her. "I want to touch you."

The words sent the heat resting in her stomach rushing through her. As she moved her hands over his torso, his fingers proceeded to caress her naked form, observing every inch. When she moved to kiss him, it was a lazy, gradual thing, soft in beginning and deep, suffocating in the end. Even he gasped for breath as he lowered his head to taste her neck.

He paused when he neared her shoulder. Lightly, he traced the puncture marks that stood out starkly against her white skin.

"A bear." She said plainly. "He decided he wanted me for dinner."

Sandor Clegane kissed the marks. "Did you kill him too?"

"Aye."

A chuckle. "Good girl."

Another blissful moment passed before he found the next one. The hollow trench in her side. He stopped again, studying it carefully. "This is a knife wound."

She nodded. "I killed her, but she near killed me too."

He measured the mark with his fingers. "You had to hold -"

She grimaced at the memory. "Yes."

There were other, less substantial marks. much like his own. But for her, these were the ones that mattered. He ghosted over the rest before looking her in the eye.

"You've never asked me," He raked his hair out of his face. "About this. Not once."

"I assumed you would tell me, if and when you wanted to."

His hands rested on her hips, and she watched as he formed the words in his head, At last, he told her: "It was my brother, Gregor. He's always been a vicious cunt. Always hurting people. I was smaller than him for a long time. Small enough for him to kick around whenever he wanted. One day, when I thought he wasn't home, I took one of his toys. Just to play with. I just wanted to play with it…"

She touched his ruined cheek. "But he caught you."

"He caught me. And he picked me up. I couldn't fight him. I didn't stand a chance against him. He shoved my face into one of the braziers and all I could do was scream."

"But he stopped?"

A bitter laugh. "Only when they dragged him off. The damage was done by then."

"He would have killed you."

"I don't doubt it."

Rowan, unsure what to say, just kissed him. Feeling the way, his fingers dug into her back, the way he kissed her back, she knew it was the right thing to do. So she didn't say another word, letting him touch and taste her as he willed.

He lowered his head to lap and nip at her breasts, closing his lips around a pert nipple and sucking harder when she gasped. As he moved to the other, his hand found the juncture of her thighs, slipping between them to tease her slowly. Rowan gripped his shoulders, moaning at his attentions. He remembered what she had shown him, moving his fingers between her clit and her pussy. Struck by sudden inspiration, he moved his thumb forward and his fingers back, stroking her as he filled her. She groaned loudly and he looked up, grinning.

" _Shhhh_!" He scolded. "The whole castle will hear."

She bit her lip, moving her hips in rhythm with his hand. He watched mesmerized, eyes soaking up the sight of her naked body as it writhed in pleasure. He shifted, his other hand dunking into the water, and she felt his cock pressed to her leg. At first she thought he meant to take her there, but he only stroked himself in time with her movements.

The pleasure on his face paired with all he was doing was pure bliss. Rowan heard herself breathing in sharp gasps, which harmonized with his rough voice as she started to tighten, her orgasm creeping slowly through her limbs until she was left voiceless, bracing her hands against him as she rode it out to the end.

He seemed disappointed when it was over, for he was not yet done. But still he did not take her, choosing to keep his hand where it was, lightly exploring her most intimate part. She brought her lips to his, granting him her tongue. This time when she put her hand between them he didn't stop her, and allowed her to take his member without protest so that he might fondle her as he raced toward his end.

He moaned this time, breaking their kiss and pressing his forehead to hers, holding her gaze as he jerked upwards into her hand. His cock twitched and Rowan looked down to find a pearly white substance breaking apart in the water.

He grabbed her, lifting her out of the water as he stood, making her squeak in surprise. Setting her down on the floor he retrieved a towel and proceeded to dry himself. Seeing her face, he tilted his head. "What?"

She was looking at the water. "So be perfectly honest, I had been hoping for a bath as well."

He sniggered. "Should've told me. But here, there's still water in this jug, and another cloth there. Help yourself."

Leaning over the tub, she used the bit of clean water to wash her hair and body, enjoying the lavender scent of the soap immensely. She eyed the oils. "May I use these?"

From his seat he made a dismissive gesture. "I said 'help yourself'."

She opened them each in turn to sniff before applying one to the lengths of her unruly tresses.

"Don't you have your own?" He asked.

She snorted. "I don't even have my own soap."

"Just another thing you could buy."

"Hm." She was busy trying to work the oil through a tangle. "Could I use your brush as well?"

Sighing, he strode over to his drawers and plucked it up. "Here."

He made her stand there as he ran the brush through her hair. Slowly, carefully so as not to hurt her, he teased out the knots and arranged it over her shoulders. A quick kiss on the neck told her he was done.

She wanted to stay. Wanted to talk to him more. Fuck with him more. But the day was waning, and there was dinner to tend to. He didn't try to stop her, though his eyes followed as she pocketed the coins on the table and reluctantly slipped out the door.


	10. Silver and Gold

Having helped Shanda prepare some of the vegetables for the evening, Rowan slipped out to prepare for the dinner service. There weren't many guests tonight, but she still wanted to make an effort. Any excuse to wear something other than grey.

She ran the fabric of her good dress to her fingers. It wasn't silk, or anything valuable, probably just a light cotton, but it felt like heaven to someone who had gone from wearing furs to peasant dresses. Clegane was right; she should get one or two more. And some of that nice soap, and -

The door creaked open, and Suzana walked in. Seeing her, she rushed over, inspecting her as Rowan stood their in her undergarments, feeling rather uncomfortable.

"You're alright!" She breathed at last. "He didn't hurt you?"

"No." Rowan was getting sick of that question.

"But he took you?" Suzana's face contorted. "Oh, he did, didn't he?"

"Not exactly…" She replied.

"Your hair's wet." The other girl noted. "And you smell like flowers. Don't tell me he didn't do anything to you!"

"He just wanted me to… Bathe with him."

"And pleasure him?"

"Yes."

"Did he touch you?"

"Yes, but he didn't…" Rowan smiled in spite of herself. "He was quite gentle."

Suzana took a long hard look at her. At first Rowan thought she might be angry, not that she had any business being angry. But a small smile played at her lips when she asked.

"Are you in love with him?"

"What? No!" Rowan spluttered, a little too defensively. Suzana's eyes narrowed in mock suspicion. "I am  _not_ in love with him. He's good to me, that's all!"

Suzana glanced from the dress behind her, to the green one hanging over her own bed, and put two and two together. "He pays you. That's where you got that money. Oh, by the gods, Rowan, I thought you'd nicked it!"

"You won't tell anyone?" Rowan asked. "Not even Margaret?  _Please!_ "

Suzana hugged her then, quite suddenly. Rowan froze, not sure how to react. It wasn't unpleasant, though, so she awkwardly hugged her back, not really certain what it was for. She just knew she could trust this one.

Dinner went by without any hiccups, though Rowan wished Suzana would stop winking at her. She was delighted to have a secret to keep, and nigh poured wine on three guests trying to catch Rowan's eye. Rowan made a noble effort to ignore her.

When there was a lull in their, work, however, the other girl dragged her into the corner near where the Hound was stationed near the high table. Rowan thought it unnecessary to look at him while they spoke, so pointedly turned her back. Suzana checked his every move.

"He just looked over, you know." She whispered excitedly. "Or I think he did, it's hard to see what's going on under that helmet."

Rowan knew he had looked. He scarce moved when he was at his station, certainly not enough to notice. He was probably wondering what they were up to.

"Does he kiss you?" Suzana asked abruptly.

Rowan turned as red as her hair. "Yes."

Suzan made a face somewhere between disgusted and intrigued. "What's it like? What with -"

"It, um…" Should she even be answering this? "It doesn't really feel much different."

"Did you touch it?"

Rowan snorted. "What? His face? People tend to do that when they kiss, yes."

The girl wrinkled her nose. "Is it strange?"

"Well, yes. It's sort of… smooth and bumpy at the same time."

"Huh." Suzana craned her neck to look at him, and Rowan jabbed her in the stomach playfully.

"Don't be rude!"

"He isn't looking."

"That doesn't mean you should gawp!" Rowan took her by the arm and pulled her back to the kitchen.

She was just about to return to her room when Shanda plopped a tray down in front of her. She groaned her objections but the Qartheen shooed her away.

"Lord Tyrion is hosting in his room and requires refreshments. That means work for me too so don't pester me with your complaining! Go!"

" _Son of a bitch_."

Rowan and two other girls had been sent up with food and drink for Tyrion and his guests. They all exchanged unhappy glances and hushed complaints as they made the long trek up to his rooms.

"Who is he with?" Gail grumbled.

"Probably a harem of whores." Bree spat, sandaled feet slapping angrily on the floor.

Rowan curled her lip. The last thing she wanted to bear witness to were the queen's brother's sexual escapades.

They were all pleasantly surprised upon entering when they merely saw four men seated around the table playing cards. The one which set her companions afluster was Ser Jaime, who smiled up at them from his place on his brother's right. On Tyrion's left sat the venerable Ser Barristan, who stood when the ladies entered. Of course, the one with his back to them didn't turn to look. He didn't give two shits who poured his wine so long as his cup wasn't empty, didn't even look up when Rowan topped up his drink.

Biting back her grin, she moved out of the way, choosing to stand behind Lord Tyrion for no particular reason. The miniature lord appeared to be winning, and when he threw down his cards he did so with a victorious chuckle.

"Where on earth is your head tonight, brother!" He said to Ser Jaime, grinning smugly. "You haven't won a single hand!"

"Shut up." Jaime retorted, not without a little laugh.

"I feel almost guilty taking all of this!" Tyrion merrily raked the pile of coins in the center of the table over to himself and began to stack them.

"I saw your boots and thought you needed the money." The knight shot back, looking to Sandor for support. The Hound smiled thinly and patronizingly, reaching for his wine. Only as he lifted the cup to his lips did he see who had filled it. He paused, hardly long enough for the others to notice, but Rowan caught the way his fingers tightened around the silver. He drank, eyes not leaving her, flickering gold and silver in the candlelight. She looked right back, smiling. He looked well, having discarded his plain armor in favor of brown breeches, polished black boots, and a tailored yellow-gold doublet. Why in the world did these southern men have to hide their warriors under plate and helm? She would never understand.

Another two hands to Tyrion, one to Barristan, and one to Sandor. Jaime really wasn't doing well. Having never been around three of these men much before, Rowan had never quite managed to take her measure of them until now.

Tyrion, though lacking in stature, made up for it in brains. Not only did he play well, he never gave anything away. Half the time if Rowan hadn't seen his cards, she would have thought he was losing. He knew people underestimated him and used it to his advantage. The pile of coins by his elbow was testament to that.

Ser Barristan was a reserved, quiet type. He bet small and played carefully, with result Rowan calculated that he was near to breaking even, insofar as she had seen. He was also further down in his cups than he appeared, and would need to retire soon.

Jaime was pretty, but he wasn't very smart. He let the others trick him into raising more than he should, and got rid of low cards in a game where matches seemed to be the main objective. Of course he was rich enough not to care, and simply laughed at the fortune he was squandering.

As for Sandor, well, Rowan knew him well enough already. But here in the company of people that might be his friends he was more relaxed than in any other company. He laughed and joked with them more than she had seen before, and seemed genuinely fond of Jaime, where he treated the older knight with due respect. Tyrion he didn't much care for, she could tell, but he was fair enough to him. He played about as well as Ser Barristan, but took more risks. He also drank a lot more. And ate like a Wildling.

Presently, he threw down a dismal hand at high stakes, and Rowan visibly winced. Seeing this, he grinned, which Tyrion noticed at once.

"What on earth has you so happy, Clegane? You just lost."

"Shut the fuck up, Imp." He responded.

Rowan snorted. Tyrion turned in his chair to look at her and she fought to control her expression.

"Was that funny, my lady?" He asked.

Pursing her lips, she shook her head.

The little man looked back to the Hound, then at her. "Well I suppose I can't blame an old dog for looking so pleased when he's been staring at you all night. Come here."

Rowan strode over. There was nothing menacing about this man. He probably meant to embarrass the Hound, but she would not cooperate with that.

"I would ask you to sit with me and help." He said. "But as you can see, I don't need it."

"My brother and Lord Clegane, unfortunately, are both losing. Why don't go and help one of them? I'll let you choose whom."

So that was it. Expose Sandor for staring at her, then give her this choice. No doubt he expected her to select Jaime, as either of the other two girls might. She could practically feel the jealousy emanating from them as she rounded the table, pretending to weigh her options. But there really was only one for her.

When she came to the Hound, he knew, and reached out to draw her into his lap. Tyrion's face fell.

"My dear I assure you, I didn't mean for him to man handle you like this -"

Rowan turned so that both of her legs hung across Sandor Clegane's and rested her elbow on his shoulder, all the while neither of them looked away from the Imp.

At last Sandor spoke: "She seems to have made her decision, Dwarf. Deal the fucking cards already."

************************************************†****************************************************

Complete the phrase:  _Couples who shade together..._


	11. Laughter

It was a simple game really, he only had to explain the rules to her once. Five cards a hand a double and a triple, or two doubles and a strong single to win. They discarded whatever they didn't want and the dealer gave them that much in exchange. The face cards were good, Sandor wanted to push for those, but she restrained him. After all, they were no use on their own.

She checked his betting, too. The drunker he got, the more coin he was willing to spend, and if she let him waste his money here he'd regret it in the morning.

Tyrion and Jaime watched this with unconcealed fascination (Ser Barristan had gone to bed already). No doubt they had never seen a woman so comfortable with the Hound. At one point she took the cards from him and playfully held them out of his reach rather than let him ruin his hand. When she finally won the round, Sandor handed his cup to her, conceding that perhaps he had had enough. Bree filled it at a nod from him, looking just as perplexed as the brothers.

"Wait wait wait wait…" Jaime exclaimed, propping himself on his elbow to look at her, swaying slightly. " _Wait_  a fucking second. I remember… Aren't you the Wildling one?"

Rowan, mouth full of wine, swallowed slowly. "Yes?"

" _Oooh!_ " Both of the Lannisters said in unison, like they had just solved some compelling mystery.

Rowan turned to Sandor for an explanation, but he just shrugged. He had a hand under her arse and one around her waist and that was all he seemed to be concerned about at present.

She made the mistake of drinking again before Tyrion asked. "How long have the two of you been fucking?"

Rowan choked, just about managing to swallow the wine before she spat it all over the table. Sandor was too busy howling with laughter to help.

"That's… Um…"

"That's none of your fucking business, you little shit." He barked from behind her, still sniggering.

"I'd like to point out." Ser Jaime slurred. "That I personally have no desire to know what you do behind closed doors."

"I certainly don't ask your business." Sandor responded, causing the knight to redden, whether out of anger or embarrassment Rowan couldn't tell. "Or yours."

They both fixed on Tyrion again, and he held up his hands in surrender. "I meant no offense!"

"None taken." Rowan replied.

At last Ser Jaime was sent to bed. Rather than be left with Tyrion, Sandor and Rowan decided to take their leave as well. The other two servants had already been dismissed, and Jaime stopped them outside his door.

"You'll see her safely to bed, Sandor." He managed, reaching out to lean on the other man, though he covered it with a pat on the shoulder.

Mastering a straight face, the Hound nodded, tightening his arm around her shoulders. Jaime smiles drunkenly at both of them, and Rowan honestly thought he was about to cry. It took all of her strength not to laugh.

Jaime seemed in no hurry to go to bed, and the moment stretched into awkwardness. He patted Sandor's shoulder again. "I really am happy for you, you old dog. She's rather pretty, even by my standards."

Rowan thought Sandor would have a stroke trying to control his expression. With a wobbly bow and overexaggerated "My lady." Jaime finally shut himself into his room. Unable to contain themselves any longer, they just about managed to stumble out of earshot before bursting into raucous drunken laughter. The Hound was  _wheezing_ , bent double with his hands on his knees while Rowan propped herself against the well, clutching her stomach and waiting for death.

"It's not even that funny!" She gasped, throwing her arms over his back in something like a collapses hug.

"Believe me." He squeaked, drying tears from his eyes. "It is."

He wrapped his huge arms around her waist, falling over her as he stood. She reeled back under his weight, bumping back against the wall. They stayed like that, laughing into each other's shoulders before they managed to calm down. He was worse than her, giggling like a child even though he felt her lips brush his neck. He started to take deep, soothing breaths then. Rowan kissed his twisted flesh, feeling his chest jerk against hers even though he now clearly wanted the laughing to be done. She showered his face with kisses, bringing him rapidly back to his senses.

She fingered the collar of his doublet. "I like this on you."

He looked down at her, taken somewhat aback by the compliment. "You do?"

Rowan bit her lip, nodding. "You look...nice."

When her mouth closed over his, he made some sort of happy " _Hm."_  as his hands gripped her waist. It was a sloppy, wine-fuelled kiss. It was also somehow less guarded than his other kisses. He moaned into her mouth when she sucked on his tongue, nibbled gently on her lips until they were red and swollen. As he pressed her further up the wall, he ground against her, his growing need apparent through all of their clothing. But as always, he was the one to break away, though the look her gave her as he took her hand told her all she needed to know.

"Come on." He said. "Let's get you to bed."

With his arm firmly around her, he guided her down through the levels of the castle, occasionally giving in to fervent exchanges, but always insistent that she get to bed. Not his bed. Her own.

The door loomed there in the dark, and she pulled him to her, hoping to at last break his will. He kissed her but once before murmuring. "Go to bed."

She pouted. "I don't want to."

"Oh?" His eyes flashes in the dark. "What do you want?"

Taking both of his hands, she led him down the hall to the relative privacy of the empty kitchen. Once inside, she fell to her knees, reaching for his laces. He undid his belt himself.  _So you'll not protest when I start things_.

In spite of the wine he'd drunk, his cock was hard as ever, and he groaned loudly at she took it into her mouth, working him messily and a little too fast. But she was trying to coax a fire, and thus needed plenty of fuel. As he watched, she undid her dress, opening it for him to observe her as she massaged her own breasts through her chemise, pinching her nipples to hardness.  _Not enough_. She eased the front down freeing one large teat, then the other. He only grinned as he fucked her mouth harder.

She released him from her mouth, taking him in hand instead, licking his tip teasingly as she hiked the hem of her slip up beyond her knees, looking right up at him as she brought her hand under the hem of her smallclothes. His eyes went wide then, and for a panicked moment she thought he might come. Instead he stopped her hand with his.

"You're touching yourself?"

She grinned and nodded, watching lust take over his features.

"Let me see." He reached down to lift her, bringing her over to one of the tables and pushing her down so that she lay on the scratched top. He rolled her skirts up and pulled her smallclothes off in one fluid motion. She saw the way he looked down at her and her breathing quickened, drinking him in as she worked small circles around herself. He bent down to kiss her, embracing as with teeth and tongue he followed her neck down to her breasts, which he all but passed over, choosing instead to kneel between her thighs, lips moving up and down her legs as he watched her fingers against her sex.

Sandor wrapped his hand around her wrist and pulled it away, pressing a ghost of a kiss to her folds.

" _Oh_!"

His head snapped up, surprise apparent on his face. Of course a man used to paying for whores wouldn't know about this. Rowan put her hand on his head, not pushing, but encouraging him to continue. He obeyed gladly, kissing her there again, his mouth tracing the line of her. When at last he tried his tongue, she gasped loudly, fingers clenching in his hair.

He understood, and switched to lapping at her, delving his tongue between her folds, tasting every inch of her. Each time he found her sweet spot, she gasped, and he soon learned that this was where her pleasure lay. As his mouth spoiled her, Rowan pressed a hand against her own lips in an effort to muffle the noises he was drawing out. The heat of his tongue seeped through her, bathing her in sensation. Unable to stop herself, she thrust against his face, tugging his hair in a way she was sure hurt. Still, he didn't stop until she was a shuddering mess, wheezing sharply into her palm as she met her end.

He stood, stretching over her to kiss her lips again. Rowan felt the brush of something velvety against her thigh and almost demanded that he take her there. But this wasn't how either of them wanted it, really. Sandor pressed his member to her abdomen, their mouths locked as he lowered her chemise over himself. Rowan put her hand over this, and he thrust against her, moaning scandalously. Just a few thrusts, and she felt something warm and sticky coat her skin.

Done, he pulled her up and helped rearrange her clothes. She tried to kiss him again but he pushed her off with a light laugh. Bending so that they were eye to eye, he firmly told her: " _Bed!_ "


	12. Lie With Me

Suzana had found someone. A guard by the name of Malachi who had seen her at a recent feast, or so she told Rowan as they sat on their beds, dismissed by both Margaret and Shanda, who could find no purpose for them today. The girl's cheeks turned a charming pink as she told Rowan of the things he had said. He even kissed her, when they got the chance. She wanted to make him hers.

Rowan shifted on her bed, trying to find the right words.  _Fuck him_  she wanted to say.  _Say his name a few times. It's as simple as that._  But Suzana was a southern virgin, and the rules were different for her. She was supposed to endure sex, not want it, and acting any other way might turn her suitor off her. Rowan looked at the wall for inspiration.

"Do you have anything to offer him?" She attempted. "Lands, money, reputation?"

Suzana hung her head. "No, my family are all peasants. No money to spare. No reputation to speak of. There's nothing that might tempt him."

"I want to say that you could." Rowan told her. "The gods know you're pretty enough. If you were northern you'd just have to have a child by him -"

"Not in Seven Hells!" Suzana spat.

"No, not here. He'd just leave you and infant both." Rowan agreed, taking a minute to think.

"How did you catch him?" The other girl pressed. "The Hound. How did you make him look at you the way he does?"

Rowan blinked at her. "'The way he does'?"

"You don't see it?"

"See what?"

"He's asking for you again." Shanda announced as she entered the kitchen. She looked at Rowan apologetically, indicating the tray laid out on the table. They very table where he had…

She inspected the dishes. "He usually asks for more chicken than this."

Shanda scowled. "Tough on him."

"No," Rowan retorted. "Tough on  _me._  Spare me the extra journey,  _please_ , Shanda!"

At her begging, the cook rolled her eyes and reluctantly rolled another chicken thigh onto the plate. "Get! Before I take the spoon to your arse!"

Sandor Clegane sat at the table, seemingly waiting for her. She smugly observed that he was wearing his doublet again, which she appreciated. Rowan placed the plate before him and he frowned. "Why is it that I always seem to be getting too much fucking food lately?"

"Cook thinks you're too skinny." Rowan replied, snatching the extra chicken leg from the plate before he could even look at it. "Insisted I bring you double the normal portions."

"Do they not feed you?" He queried, watching as she tore the flesh off the bone in a matter of seconds. He picked up the other leg and set it on the table before her.

"They feed us the stuff you lot don't want." She answered, pulling meat off her second leg methodically before placing it on her tongue to savor the flavor.

He made a face. "I can only imagine what that means."

"Exactly."

He speared a lump of potato and offered it to her. Rowan leaned across the table and gobbled it up without a second thought. Then he poured two glasses of wine and they saluted each other before drinking.

Eyeing him over the brim of her cup, Rowan marvelled at how they had become so familiar so fast. Here was this big, mean, beast of a man, whose reputation would send shivers down the spine of anyone he met. And yet in a few short months he had opened up to her. Now they ate and drank together almost on a weekly basis, and he only laughed when she called him a stupid cunt. Called her a dumb bitch right back.

As they ate, they exchanged anecdotes, and Rowan noted the bulging sack of coins by his elbow. He left it out nowadays, where most other people might hide their purses from a Wildling. Before, she might have been tempted by it, but not now. She knew it was for her anyway.

She finished eating before he did, as always, and stood up, roaming about the room as she was wont to do, drink in hand, inspecting this and that. Asking questions. Always asking questions. She made her way over to Toby and ran a hand over his smooth metal breastplate.

"Ser Loras' armor has pictures on it." She recalled.

"Hmph. Loras is a flowery cunt by nature." He remarked. "Too fond of decoration. Not of fighting."

"He fought well enough when I saw him. Won the tourney."

A grunt. She heard him set his knife and fork down, followed by the jingle of his purse.

"Why don't you have anything on yours?"

"Because I'm not a knight and I'm not a cunt."

"You aren't?" She shot back, making him snort loudly. He was at the basin now, washing his hands and face.

She found her way back over to the table, looked down, and stopped. There, in front of her, sat ten gold dragons. Rowan touched them, picking them up and letting them slide about her hand as she watched them glimmer. She did not pocket them, but placed them back on the table.

"What's this?"

He did not look at her. "Your payment."

Rowan studied the coins again, gleaming as they were. Double what she usually made. More than triple what the average whore made. She drank deep and put her glass down.

"...Payment for what?"

He turned then, silver eyes taking in her form. His hands twitched noticeably. He met her eye, then looked away. Opened his mouth, then shut it tight again.

_He's nervous_. She realized.

"I uh," He attempted. "I...I mean…"

"Out with it." She commanded.

Sandor looked up, saw her waiting for his words, and visibly shrank. "I want to fuck you."

He said it as plainly as he said everything else, but there was more weight behind the words. Rowan could feel it. It hit her hard, so that she only gaped at him for a long time.

Again, she looked at the money by her hand, and back to him. His eyes, for once, seemed unable to find her as she said: "You know what, keep your coin."

He seemed so small right then, eyes dulled with disappointment. As she closed the distance between them, he only grew more confused. Rowan unlaced her dress, letting it fall to the floor, kicking it aside and tossing her chemise after it. There was a hint of frustration in his expression now; he thought she was teasing him, but she smiled as she stepped out of her slippers, and he remembered to breathe again. His eyes fixed on her hands as she untied her smallclothes, and soon enough they were gone as well, so that she stood naked as her nameday before him.

With him still frozen, she fumbled with the buttons on his doublet. Was she breathing? She inhaled deeply, just to check. For sure her heart was pounding. He shrugged it off, bending as she tugged at his tunic so that she could pull it off.

At last, unable to restrain himself any longer, Sandor gathered her into his arms. Kissing her passionately, he squeezed her so hard that the air left her lungs, and her toes only brushed the floor. Half-lifting her, he hurried over to the bed, laying her down carefully, lips never leaving hers.

Rowan shifted so that her legs lay either side of him, using them to hold him in place in a way that made him growl. He bit her collarbone as he palmed her arse and thighs. At one point he slapped her arse and she yelped, making them both pause for laughter. Yes, this was good. As he sucked at her tits, fingers playing at her pussy, she sighed in satisfaction. This was what she wanted, though he had made her wait long enough.

He abandoned her breasts, choosing instead to sample the soft flesh of her stomach. He kissed the hair that curled down there and she grinned. Rowan had discovered he liked doing this; at one point he even remarked that she tasted 'sweet' and whether he meant that literally or figuratively, she took it as a good thing. This time he used his fingers together with his tongue, stretching her, preparing her. The feeling was intense, and her breath hitched.

" _Good."_  She gasped." _Good."_

Accepting her encouragement, he worked faster, making her bite her tongue for fear of waking the neighbors. She was close now, very close, and her impatience had reached boiling point. She grabbed his free arm and simultaneously pushed his head back.

"Come here."

The sight of him crawling up her body, eyes ablaze, twisted smile, looking ravenous, made her toes curl. She took him into her embrace, made a purring noise as he crashed his lips to hers. She needed him. Now.

Rowan tried to open his belt, making him chuckle hoarsely and move to help her. She was shaking, she knew, excitement vibrating through her body as they fought for the right to shove his breeches away. He won, of course, and dropped them to the floor. He kissed her again, never seemed to get enough of kissing her, and allowed her to guide him to her entrance.

With a single push of his hips, he easily sheathed himself. Rowan whimpered and he stroked her hair.

"Is it alright?" He rumbled. "Am I hurting you?"

"No. No, don't stop."

The way he moved, rolling into her with measured, powerful thrusts, soon made speaking impossible, and he grinned as he gradually began to realize the effect he was having on her. Rowan had lost all sense, and struggled to keep control of the noises she was making.

She tried to turn her head into the pillow, and with a snarl he tore it away. "No. Look at me. Rowan,  _look at me._ I don't care if all of King's Landing hears you."

She curled her fingers into his chest and rear, nails biting deep, mouth falling open. He hissed with pain, increasing his pace as her moans rang against the walls. He tried to kiss her in the midst of it and she bit his lip. When he bit her shoulder in retaliation, she seemed to like it, pulling at his hair with a grunt.

With a shrill gasp, she raised her legs up to his waist. Sandor hooked his elbows under her knees, pinning her completely as his hips crashed against hers. Rowan's expression turned near feral as she found her voice.

"Sandor…"

He barred his teeth, grunting like an animal.

" _Sandor."_

" _Fuck._ " He rasped. "Fuck!"

It hit her like an avalanche. All of that mounting pleasure, and for an instant she sought him in the dark. "Sandor! Oh!"

He was there, panting as she became too tight to bear. He just about managed to pull out, spilling his seed across his stomach instead of inside her. He looked at her, sweat dripping down his face.

"By the  _gods_!"

He stumbled off the bed and fetched a towel from the washstand. Returning to her, he politely began to dab at the sweat glistening on her before wiping away the mess he had left on her belly. Throwing this across the room, he got another and proceeded to dry himself Rowan propped herself up on one elbow to watch. This was her first time seeing him fully naked, and it was a treat.

He tilted his head. "What?"

"Just looking."

He shuffled self consciously and discarded yet another towel. Rowan patted the bed next to her and he came, stretching out on his back. She rested her arms on his chest, playing absently with his damp hair. His fingers tickled her back. His gaze shifted here and there, absorbing the sight of her before he ultimately asked: "Why didn't you take the money?"

"I don't want it."

"But why."

She formed the words carefully. "Because I like you, and I don't want this to be about money any more."

The weight of it hung in the air. Sandor frowned, and Rowan waited with baited breath.

"You like me?" He whispered.

"Uh-huh."

He scoffed, and her heart sank. "You're mad."

She laughed, kissing his chest. "Perhaps."

He took her hand and laid it against his scars, kissed her palm and closed his eyes. When he opened them again there was fear in them.

"I want you to stay here."

She nodded. "It's late."

"No. Not just tonight. Don't go back down to that dungeon. Not ever."

She grinned. "People will talk."

" _Hmph_. Let them." He retorted.

Rowan kissed his face and laid her head next to his, arm tight across his chest. She nuzzled into his neck, breathing him in.

A pause and then: "Is that a 'yes'?"

She snorted. "What do you think, you stupid cunt?"


	13. Good Morning

The bed sank. Rowan made a noise of complaint and shoved her head into the pillow to block out the light. Something tickled her side, and she twitched away, but it followed her. A warm something engulfed her, leaving wet trails up her arm to her neck.

"Morning."

She protested his greeting. He chuckled shoving her arm so she lay exposed to the blinding sun. Lips against hers, and she sleepily responded, moving them both so she lay on top of him, his caresses banishing the sleep from her limbs.

Rowan bit his jaw. Not hard, but enough to tell him she was awake. He squeezed her tits in response, and she pondered how long he had been waiting for her to rise.

Lazily, she let herself explore the expanse of his body, hands wandering at will, lingering where his breath hitched. He grunted uncertainly when she squeezed his arse and she giggled. "No?"

"Not no. No one's ever done that before."

She kissed his collarbone. "Get used to it."

As she lowered her head to his chest, she noted with a hint of pride that she had branded him with her nails. She kissed it before circling a nipple with her tongue.

Another grunt. She stopped. "That wasn't a no, either." She continued.

His cock twitched against her stomach. Rowan shifted lower and pressed her breasts against it.  _Grunt_.

"You sound like a boar."

"Shut the fuck up."

"Do you want me to stop?"

"...no."

"Then be nice."

Sitting up straight, she took in the sight of him; his huge arms resting behind his head, black hair lying across his broad shoulders, his muscular stomach and chest, covered with a fair helping of dark curls. She curled her fingers round his dick, which was good and hard by now, stroking it lightly as he observed.

Rowan moved her legs to either side of his, raising an eyebrow. Catching her meaning, he moved his hands to her hips, coaxing her forward so that she hovered over him. She rubbed him along her wetness at first, desire overcoming his previously serene demeanor.

Inch by inch, she lowered herself down onto his length, sighing when she reached the hilt. He lay there taut as a bowstring, brow knotted. Rowan waited for him to calm before she took him, running her hands over his body soothingly.

Sandor's breathing slowed, and she felt him relax beneath her. Only then did she move, rocking her hips against him so that he opened his mouth in an audible "Oh!"

"Were you a maid?"

He glared at her, but she just rolled hard against him, drawing the noise from him again.  _Never had a woman take you, have you?_

She was careful, knowing how intense this could feel for him. Knowing she could very well hurt him this way. Below her, she could see him struggling to maintain control.

"Give me your hand." She instructed, taking it and placing it against her nub. "Touch here."

He did as told, and she played with her nipples. It created more of a show for him, and helped her along. Both sides won.

Rowan moaned, picking up her pace, adjusting her legs to a better angle, bracing her palms against his massive chest when she found it.

With his free hand, Sandor swept her long hair away from her face, and she arranged it over one shoulder the better to meet those striking silver eyes. He cupped one of her breasts, running his thumb over the pink and white flesh.

Feeling the pressure building in her core, she found the correct rhythm. He was watching her intently now, and she resisted the urge to close her eyes. She remembered how vehemently he had told her to look at him before. He wanted to be the center of her attention, and she granted him this. After all, didn't she want the same?

He growled quietly, hand clapping down on her hip. The way he was drinking her in aroused her as much as anything he might do, and she quivered, movements becoming erratic, she struggled to balance herself, looking him straight in the eyes as she rode out her release to its fullest.

"Shit! Get up!" Sandor blurted, yanking her hips up and back away from him. "Shit, shit!"

He removed her just in time, and his semen fell harmlessly across his abdomen. Rowan laughed with relief and after making sure none had gotten onto her, he joined her.

"Towel?"

"Towel."

She cleaned both of them this time, then proceeded to gather the clothes strewn about the room, tossing them at him where he lay on the bed. Save for her chemise, which she pulled on. He abruptly sat up.

"What are you doing?"

"I should get dressed eventually, you know." Rowan responded. "Some of us have work to do, you know."

He burst out laughing. Not getting the joke, she stood staring at him.

"What time do you think it is, you stupid bitch!"

Rowan went to the window and looked out. The sun sat high in the sky, mocking her. He started to laugh again. "It's past midday!"

She bolted for the bed and picked her dress up. " _Why didn't you tell me!?"_

"I was distracted."

"You fucking asshole! I'll be skinned for this!"

"No you won't." He assured her. "Your friend came knocking before. I told her you were sick."

She gestured to Toby, standing guard in the corner. "And what about your duties, eh? Will the queen not wonder where  _you_ are?"

"I am also poorly." He explained, falling back to the pillows and coughing for effect.

She chuckled. "Shithead."

"Idiot."

"You could at least call for lunch."

"Can't. I'm dying."

"I'll kill you myself if you don't give me something to eat."

He sat up again. "Are you insinuating that you would eat me?"

She looked him over. "Yes."

He cocked his head. "My septa used to say Wildlings ate each other."

Rowan stopped smiling. She knew what he was about to ask her.

"Have you ever eaten anyone?"

"Yes."

He stood and pulled on his wrinkled breeches, "Well, I best get you some food then, hadn't I?"

Having fed, Rowan insisted on going downstairs to have a word with Margaret. No doubt the maid had been hard put to to make up for her absence, and she felt immeasurably guilty. Sandor tried to keep her, physically tried to hold her back, even threatened to tie her to the bed, but she shook him off.

He pinned her as she tried to get out the door. "You'll be back tonight?"

"I said I would!"

"I know just...promise me."

"I promise you, I will return tonight."

His kiss was soft, sweet.

"And you?" She asked. "You're going to stay here all day?"

He shrugged. "Maybe. Might go for a walk."

She rolled her eyes and marched out the door.

When she entered the kitchen, neither Shanda or Margaret said a word. The cook just put down her knife and left the room, shutting her in with her superior. Rowan took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry."

"We searched all over for you."

"I know. I'm sorry. I overslept and -"

"Shanda, Suzana, Bree, Gaile, Hollie and I. Not one of us knew where you were."

"I swear I'll make it up to you all. I'll bring up all the meals tonight -"

"We were  _frantic_."

"I'll clean every last pot -"

"We almost searched along the  _Trident_  before Suzana realized."

"I'll scrub the floors -"

"We thought you had been  _killed."_

Rowan shut her mouth.

Margaret's nostrils flared, and she thought she might breathe fire. She put her hands on her hips. "Who is he?"

"Huh?"

"Who were you with?"

Rowan twisted the ring of bone on her right finger, examining the little animals her father had cut into it.

" _Rowan._ "

"The Hound." She answered. "I was with the Hound."

Margaret was visibly disgusted. "You stupid girl."

"What?"

"After all your warning Suzana, you let one of the Clegane brothers corner you." Margaret said.

"He didn't  _corner_  me, I  _went_ to him!" Rowan fired back.

"Went to him?"

"That's right."

"Did you have a choice?"

"Yes. I chose him."

Margaret studied her face, then began to laugh. "You really are a strange one, you know that?"

Rowan smirked. "I know."

Just like that, the air cleared. Margaret went over to the kettle and poured some brown liquid into a cup. Traversing the room, she handed it to Rowan.

"Moon tea. Drink it all, girl. And wash the dishes when you're done."


	14. Things that matter

Suzana burst into the room after dinner service, face flushed, a silly look on her face. Rowan raised her eyebrows.

"Malachi?"

The girl flopped down onto her bed, giggling.

"Suzana?"

_Giggle._

"Are you  _drunk?"_

"No?"

"Fuck sake." Rowan went to the kitchen, pilfering a chunk of bread and a jug of water. Shouldering the door open, she set it on their pathetic little table. "Get that into you."

"I'm not hungry."

"And I'm not holding your hair back when you puke."

"I'm not going to puke."

"How much wine did you drink?"

"It was ale, not wine."

"Even worse."

"Oh shut up."

Rowan laughed. Suzana had never had the courage to tell any of them to shut up, least of all her. She also never got drunk, despite Rowan's numerous attempts.

"I heard you were sick."  _Giggle_.

Rowan turned her back to her and busied herself.

"You know, I see it." Suzana said. "Or I saw it…"

"Saw what?"

"What you see in him."

"And what's that, Queen of Cups?"

"Well, he hadn't got a shirt on when he opened the door…"

"You've seen him like that before."

"Oh but I didn't  _look_."

Rowan turned to her, grinning. "It's something, isn't it?"

Suzana sighed. "But it's not just that."

Rowan rolled her eyes. "What  _else_?"

"I asked where you were, and he looked at you - or he looked to the bed - and for once he didn't seem mean. He was happy. When he said you were ill, his voice was soft, and he was smiling."

Rowan nodded, knowing what she meant.

The other girl sat up, finally seeing the trunk behind her.

"What are you doing?"

"He asked me to stay with him."

To her complete and utter horror, her friend made some sort of high-pitched cooing noise. Rowan tried to cover her mouth, but she fought back, slapping her hands away.

"Stop that!"

Suzana started giggling again. Rowan dismissed her, returning to the trunk.

"Will you still be a servant?"

"Of course."

"You'll still be in the kitchen?"

"Aye. I'm the Hound's bitch, Suzana. Not the queen."

"But he's a lord!"

"Second son of a minor house."

"I don't think I could call you 'my lady'."

"I won't be a lady!" Rowan cringed at the thought.

"Right you are, Milady."

"Fuck off!"

"You sounded like him there!"

This time Rowan laughed too. Then, reaching into her little wooden box, she extracted one of the purses she had hidden so many months before. Suzana's jaw dropped when she held it out with her.

"Rowan! No!"

"Take it."

"It's your money!"

"I have more than enough, believe me."

"I can't!"

"Of course you can. I'm giving it to you."

"I wouldn't even know what to do with it!"

"I don't, either. This is the best thing I can think of." She pushed it into her lap. "Buy yourself more dresses, cakes, flowery things. Whatever you want."

Suzana lifted the purse into her hands, weighing it, then set it on her bed. Standing, she pulled Rowan into another one of her hugs.

" _Thank you._ "

When Rowan arrived at his door, Sandor opened it before she could even knock. Taking one look down at her yellow dress, he asked. "So you finally burned that grey thing, then?"

She elbowed him out of the way, shoving the heavy trunk into his arms.

"The fuck is in here?"

"Everything I own."

"Not everything." He dropped it, a little too roughly for her liking, at the end of the bed.

"Huh?"

He nervously scratched his scarred flesh. "I went for that walk."

"Congratulations."

"...and I took the money you left last night."

"Sandor -"

"I just thought, if you're going to be here, you'll need a few things."

"I don't need anything!"

"You used my hairbrush this morning."

"Well -"

"And my soap."

"True -"

"And you complained that I didn't have any hair pins."

Rowan burst out laughing. He stared at her in shock.

" _You,"_ She managed. "Went shopping for  _hair pins?_ "

"Believe me, that wasn't the worst of it."

She made a gesture in front of her face, indicating the fall of his raven hair. "You don't think...maybe...they thought they were for you?"

"That's…!" He thought about it, then groaned. "That would explain the way they spoke to me, actually."

Rowan gathered herself. "Alright, show me."

His face lit up, and he he brought her over to the table. The first thing she saw was the brush. She picked it up, running her thumb over the smooth white handle.

"The handle's pearl. Or that's what they said. If it's not I'll fucking skin them. It cost enough. There's a comb, too. Here." He picked it up. "This one's ivory. My mother had one just like it."

"What's ivory?"

"Oh it's um...animal horn. Or bone. I'm not sure which."

"My mother had one made of bone."

He smiled, handing it to her. Picking up a small box, he slid the lid open, revealing a heap of silver pins and a spool of gold ribbon. "I um… Thought these might suit you. The others they showed me were too gaudy."

Rowan never liked people shoving too many colors into their hair, and smiled that he felt the same. Let them keep their tortoise shell and turquoise, these were perfect. He set them shakily before her.

"Is this soap?" She asked, raising the wax-wrapped bar to her nose and sniffing. Rose and vanilla. She liked it.

"Uh-huh. That's oil there, too. There's one with lemon, and one to bring out your color, or so she said. I don't know what any of that means."

"The lemon to brighten the top of my hair and -" She took a long whiff of the other bottle. "The cinnamon to make it redder."

"Is that alright?"

"We'll see."

He picked at his face again. "...just one more thing." Then, holding her hands, he hauled her over to his tiny armoire. "It's the fullest it's ever been, you know.

"You fucking shit." Rowan gasped, counting the gowns hanging right next to his breeches and doublets. Three in all. Like the one she wore, they were not the best quality, but were far better than what she had always worn. One of lilac, one a pale blue, and the third, her favorite, was deep red. She touched the sleeve. "Is this velvet?"

He nodded.

"How much did this  _cost?_ "

"That doesn't matter." He responded. "Do you like it? All of it?"

Rowan spread her palms over his chest and kissed the space between them, which was as far as she could reach when he stood straight like this. "I do, thank you just -"

"Just?"

"Don't do this again."

"Can't. I enjoy eating too much." He said with a teasing grin. She gave him a thump on the shoulder. "So… You really will stay?"

"How many fucking times do I need to tell you? Yes!"

"A million."

For once, he finished eating before her. Rowan wasn't used to having a plateful of good food, and was taking her time with it, savoring every bite. She was also well aware that what she was eating was far richer than what she was used to, and chose to go easy on her stomach.

Letting his curiosity get the better of him, Sandor walked over to her small trunk and nudged it with his foot. "What's in here?"

"My things, and I'll thank you not to kick it."

"I didn't kick it."

"Good."

"But what's in it?"

He had been giddy all evening. It was annoying. And also charming.

"Bring it here."

He did so with a victorious smirk. Extracting the key from her pocket, Rowan tossed it to him.

"Go ahead."

"Me?"

"I know what's in it."

The lock clicked, and the lid creaked open. He chuckled. "Wildling trinkets."

The axe came out first. He tested the balance of it in his hands before giving it a few experimental swings. He tapped the edge against the corner of the table, taking off a chunk.

"Still sharp enough."

He offered the handle to Rowan, who laid it across her lap. The knife fascinated him. Her father had fashioned it out of a mammoth bone, or so he told her; blade, handle and all. A menagerie of beasts clawed at each other on the handle, and the hilt was a wolf's head, curved blade emerging from its open maw.

"Father made that." She pulled the ring off her finger and set it on the table. "They're a pair."

"The axe too?"

"That was my brother."

"Brother?"

"Aye."

"And this?" He pulled out the off-white cloak.

"Mother. I hear she took the leather off a Crow."

A necklace with a rough opal, a beaded bracelet, a broken bow, a string of raven's feathers for her hair, another bracelet - animal teeth this time, a brooch made from a rabbit skull, and finally her helm. He laid them all on the table, save for the last, which he held in his hands, admiring it.

Rowan touched each item in turn, naming the names as she sometimes did. "Mother Biedh, Father Jurgan, Kurcra, Dweru, Urilem, Aosidh, Nydas, Oleagh, Shoni, Qerhan."

"How fucking many of you are there!"

"I'm the youngest of eight."

"Eight of  _you_?"

She kicked him.

He counted on his fingers. "Eight."

"Four boys, four girls."

"You make nine, you dumb bitch."

She scoffed. "Did you really think my name was 'Rowan'? Southern name if ever I heard one."

He stared at her.

"Qerhan." She said. "Means 'Rowan' in Northern."

"And Qerhan made this?"

"There wasn't much in the way of 'making'. She just added a few straps."

"You killed a  _bear_."

"A small one."

"And I've been here thinking I was courting some pretty little maid."

She blushed.  _Pretty._

"What's this?" There was one more thing of interest in the box: a long, expensive-looking dagger. "This looks like Dornish craftsmanship."

She winced. Of course he would know that. "It is."

He drew it from its sheath, steel flashing. "Did you take this?"

"No."

"Who gave it to you?"

"A friend."

"Friend?"

"I  _do_ have friends."

"And how did your friend pay for a weapon like this?"

She shifted, running a hand through her hair. "He was a musician. People liked his songs. They paid him a fortune just to play at Sunspear."

"Did you like his songs?"

"Yes."

"What else did you like about him?"

There was jealousy in his words, but no anger, so she answered. "He was kind, and funny, and humble -"

"Alright, I've heard enough." He grumbled, looking out the window.

Qerhan stood, putting her axe on the chair. Sandor let her extract the dagger and helmet from his hands, but didn't meet her eye. She sat on his lap, putting her arms around his neck and kissing him.

"He left me." She went on. "One of his patrons' daughters took a liking to him. A beautiful girl who reeked of money. I think they're married now."

"Oh." He mumbled guiltily.

She squeezed him, kissing his neck. "He doesn't matter now."

"How's that?"

"I met someone better."


	15. Happy Nameday

Her mood could not have been worse. That morning Suzana had swooned into the kitchen. She didn't say anything, but Rowan knew it had something to do with Malachi. As their tasks naturally sent them to opposite ends of the castle, Rowan struggled to catch her, and did not manage to do so until that evening.

"Suzana?  _Suzana!"_ She grabbed the other girl by the arm, stopping her between courses. "Are you not talking to me at all?"

"No, that's not it at all, I -" Suzana broke off as another servant hurried past them. "This way!"

Rowan allowed herself to be led round the corner and down the hall. She opened her mouth to protest as the bother girl nudged her into her old chamber, closing the door behind them. When she turned, she saw her friend bouncing excitedly on her heels, and swallowed her smart ass remarks.

"I'm pregnant."

Rowan stood, aghast, until she could contain herself no longer.

"Oh, shit."

"No, it's fine, really." Suzana assured her. "Malachi said he would take care of me."

"How?"

"Well he's got money." The other girl explained. "He can't afford a house or anything, but he said he'd help."

"You're going to have it  _here_?"

"Plenty of other girls have babies here."

"That's not the point."

"I know this isn't the best place for me to have my child, but -"

"This is the  _worst_ place." Rowan hissed. "Can't you go to your parents."

"No! No, they'd make me give it up."

Rowan thought they were right, but held her tongue. That didn't stop Suzana from catching the look on her face.

"I know I'm stupid."

"I didn't say that."

"But I do want this."

Rowan gazed at the floor. She would have to find Malachi. Exchange a few words with him…

"Rowan? You will help me, won't you?"

"I don't know much about babies. Anything really." Suzana looked like she would cry. "But I'll try to help you, I will."

Rowan was in a right mood. She had already snapped at two girls. When the third went sniveling to Margaret the older lady decided enough was enough, and dismissed her for the day. Fine by her.

She stomped up the servant's stair, more than happy to get some rest before Sandor returned that evening. She would tell him about Suzana, they'd both call a fucking idiot, and then when she saw her tomorrow, she'd feel more sympathetic.

When she opened the door, another woman stood up to meet her. A beautiful woman, with long brown hair and blue eyes that rivaled her own. Her skin was golden, and the revealing white dress she wore offset her coloring nicely.

"Who the  _fuck_ are you?"

"Kyra, the lord's nameday present from the king."

"I see. The king has already paid you?"

"Yes."

"Good. Your services are not required. Get out."

"I think not. I take pride in my work."

"You take pride -"

The door swung open, and Sandor walked in. Seeing the two women facing each other, Rowan seemingly fit to kill, stopped him immediately.

"What's going on?"

Kyra moved before Rowan could catch her, sidling up to him like a cat. She had him by the arm, and Sandor craned his neck away as she reached for his face.

"Happy nameday, my lord."

"Uh…"

"Perhaps now that you're here, you can dismiss this third-rate harlot, and we can have some fun."

He looked helplessly over to Rowan, now crimson with fury. She sprang before he could say a word, grabbing the whore by the hair and yanking her back. Kyra squealed and let go, elbowing Rowan sharply in the ribs. With an  _oof_ , Rowan released her.

Kyra retreated behind Sandor, who was both amused and petrified. "My lord!" She huffed. "You are not supposed to stand there and let this street rat assault a woman of my breeding!"

"If she wasn't trying to kill you before, she definitely is now." He remarked.

Rowan lunged, and to the whore's horror he stepped aside. This time she caught her by the neck and hauled her to the open door, dumping her out into the hall and slamming it shut.

Sandor was on her instantly, pushing her up against the doorframe. She glared at him, and he barked with laughter.

"You know I had  _nothing_  to do with that."

She punched him in the shoulder.

"Ow! Qerhan!"

"Had to hit something."

"Why not her?"

"And damage a gift from the king?"

"Good point."

A knock on the door, and Kyra's muffled voice. She damn near went out to do some damage but Sandor stopped her.

"As much as I would love to see it, don't."

Qerhan grumbled something that might have been Northern.

Sandor nuzzled her neck, reaching for the ties of her dress, and she coiled her arms round his shoulders. She smirked. "You know what would really piss her off?"

Laces untied, he yanked down her dress. "I believe I'm about three steps ahead of you."

She hitched up her skirts, wrapping her legs around him as he lifted her up. His shirt fluttered across the room. When he kissed her, she moaned loudly against his mouth and he chuckled.

"You're a fucking bitch, you know that?"

"I don't even think she's still out there."

A thump on the door proved her wrong.

She thumped back. " _Pervert!_ "

Sandor sniggered against her breast, nipping her lightly. He gripped her arse, adjusting them so he could reach her. Qerhan let out a loud groan when her entered her, and he slapped her rear.

Half-laughing, he pressed his mouth to her collar, grunting at the exertion of holding her up, he crushed her more firmly against the door. At her request, he fucked her hard into the wood, so that it rattled and strained against its hinges, and soon enough she didn't have to fake her moaning, or gasping, or even the way she called his name.

A knock on the door woke her, and Sandor rolled out of bed to let the servant in. Qerhan pulled on her smallclothes and his tunic.

"Oi." He barked. "That's mine."

She went over to the table and sat, crossing her legs. The garment slipped up, leaving a good portion on show. The effect was not lost on him.

"Do you want it back?"

"No, it looks better on you."

He poured the wine and handed over her cup. Qerhan saluted him. "Happy Nameday."

He scowled. "Thank you."

"How old are you now?"

"Twenty-seven."

"Huh."

"What?"

"I thought you were older."

He slapped her leg. "Not supposed to insult me on my nameday."

"How old am I?"

He hesitated. "Twenty?"

"Close."

"Eighteen."

"You went the wrong way."

"...thirty?"

"Twenty-two!"

"Practically thirty."

"And what does that make you!"

"It's different for men."

"What, do you age in reverse?"

"No, but we don't have…"

"Don't have what?"

"Never mind."

She rolled her eyes. Standing, she went to her chest, which she now left unlocked. He watched curiously as she extracted a small wooden box, and something wrapped in cloth. He held these out to him.

"What's this?"

"You think Ser Jaime didn't warn me about your nameday? He's my biggest fan, after all."

He mumbled something like a 'Thank you', pulling her onto his knee. She kissed his cheek. "Open it."

The box was first. Sandor looked into it and frowned. "Food?"

"Chocolate."

"What's that?"

"Try one. I think you'll like the black ones."

He did so, grunting with approval as he chewed. "What's the difference?"

He gestured to the two bottom rows.

"The lighter, the colour, the sweeter it is." Qerhan picked up a white square and bit into it, making a face. "Yup."

He ate it out of her hand before she even thought to offer it, gagged, and spat it onto his plate.

"Serves you right."

"Where did you get these?"

"My brother sent them from Braavos."

"What's your brother doing in Braavos?"

"He lives there. His wife is Braavosi."

"Oh."

"I asked him to get you this as well." She handed him the bundle.

It was a long, thin knife. Sharp and elegant in its simplicity, with a black handle and gold crossguard. Its black scabbard was stamped with three gold dogs.

"This was expensive." He commented. "There's no gold or jewels, but I know a good weapon when I see it."

"Do you like it?"

He laid the blade flat against her thigh, making her hiss at the coldness of it. With a sly smile he slipped it into the leg of her small clothes and flicked, slicing the cotton open. She grabbed at the rent fabric, spitting all manner of insults, but he stopped them with his lips.

"I like it."

He had taken her four times in the space of an evening, and now here they both lay, utterly exhausted, hardly able to lift their arms let alone move from the bed. Sandor had laughed when last he came, declaring himself now as barren as the great eastern desert.

"Sandor?"

"Uh-huh?"

"I want to ask you something."

He turned to face her. "Go ahead."

"Earlier…" Qerhan said. "If I hadn't been here. What would you have done?"

"What, with the whore?"

"Aye."

The chuckled, remembering it. "Well, I wouldn't have handled it as  _gracefully_  as you, that's for certain."

"Would you have fucked her?"

He cringed. "Not willingly. I'm lucky you were there to defend my virtue."

"She was beautiful."

"And a cunt."

"In my experience that doesn't really matter."

He propped himself up on one elbow. "Is that why you were so defensive?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"You thought if you didn't get rid of her, I'd shag her."

"Was I wrong?"

"Yes. Qerhan. Despite what you might say, I'm not an idiot. I know if I did that, I'd lose you!"

His hair had fallen into his face, she swept it away. Silver eyes shining in the dark.

"Suzana was right."

"What, your little friend? Tell me, what did she say about me. I've seen you whispering, you know. You don't look, but she does. What did she tell you?"

"That you're in love with me."

He turned rigid. There it was again, the light of fear in his eyes.

"You're afraid to say it, even now."

He gulped. "Do you…?"

He looked away, and she laughed softly. "After all our time together, you still can't see how I feel about you."

"I see something, but I'm not sure what it is."

"I remember the first time I saw you, you know. Not with the queen. That time, in the rain. It was the first time I'd seen your face. I can't remember everything that you said, but I know that I couldn't stop smiling. There was just something about you that made me feel happy. I knew I loved you, back then."

"For me it was…" His voice quavered. He cleared his throat. "That day with the queen. She was trying to scare you, and your friend. But you barely batted an eyelid the whole time. I loved the way you held yourself, and the strength in your voice."

"Why have we never admitted it, til now?"

"Because we're fucking idiots."


	16. A Tumble

"What's this one called?"

"Fucked if I know."

"Strange name for a tourney."

He tried to glare at her as she adjusted his shoulder straps. Tried and failed. She nudged him, proud of her little joke.

"I'm in all the events this time." He told her. " _All_ of them."

"Did you arrange -"

"One seat for you and one for your friend with the squalling brat."

Qerhan batted at him. "He is  _not_  a squalling brat!"

He did not attempt to fend her off. He was in full plate, after all. "You gave her the money?"

"I did."

"Did she take it?"

"After some convincing."

"Fool of a girl. Anyone could've told her that lad would pull a runner."

"Everyone  _did._ " She replied. "Of course it can't be helped now."

"Aye."

She patted his shoulder and tested that his pauldron moved sufficiently. He rotated his arm.

"Good?"

"Good."

He stood, taking Toby under his arm. The suit rattled when he walked and she hated it. Thought he looked like a giant scarecrow in it, especially with the helm on. But if it stopped him from getting hurt she supposed she could tolerate it.

"Wait!"

He paused. Qerhan produced a length of braided ribbon from her pocket, unsure what to do with it, she looked to him for help.

"A favour?" He laughed. She had clearly made it herself: yellow and black for House Clegane, red and white for herself. The braids were uneven and she had tied them off in simple knots, not bows as a proper lady would have done.

She blushed. "Yes."

"I hope you don't expect me to start spewing all that 'fighting for your honor' shite."

"I think that would make me genuinely I'll."

"Tie it to my sword belt."

She knelt down to do so.

"You know, while you're down there…"

Qerhan stood instead. "I'll do that after you win."

Suzana was delighted with their seats, which were located at the very back of the king's pavilion. Good thing, too, as a light rain had begun to fall as they walked to the grounds. While Suzana tried to calm a fussing Tobias, Rowan watched the knights and non-knights as they strode out before the king.

"Doesn't their armor rust, out in the rain like that?" She whispered.

"I thought you might know that." Suzana admitted. "Must have something to do with the polish they used."

There were just three events today: the joust, which Sandor was fair at; the hand-to-hand, which he excelled at; and archery. When she had remarked that she had never seen him with a bow, he told her to shut up. She wondered if he needed the money.

Three archers went at a time; there were seven targets to hit, and they could only take one shot at each of them. When Sandor's arrow embedded itself in the rim of the first board, not even on the target, Qerhan put her face in her hands. He was not good. Not at all. He hit the other targets, sure enough, but the other two outstripped him by miles. By the time he came to his last target, he was so agitated that his arrow flew wide, hitting the bales of hay behind. The king howled with laughter, and Sandor snapped the bow over his knee before handing it back to a distraught-looking squire.

"Oh dear. He really wasn't very good, was he?" Suzana commented, still trying to soothe her whinging babe.

"No, he wasn't." Rowan agreed, watching as he stalked away.  _What on earth is he doing?_

Next was the joust, in which Sandor had been pitted against Ser Loras. Having seen Loras before, She did not like his chances very much. Next to her, Tobias had begun to wail, and Suzana was becoming increasingly distressed. Rowan took him while his mother went to get some wine. No wonder he was squalling; Suzana had swaddled him so that he could hardly move his arms and legs. Qerhan loosened his wrappings, freeing his limbs before setting him on her knee.

"Much better, huh?" She said as he began to kick happily.

Returning her attention to the field, she saw Sandor looking up into the stand and grinned. Her favor hung stark against his dark armor. She knew it looked rough next to some of the others', but it made her heart flutter to see him with it.

Unfortunately, it brought him no luck. On their first pass, Loras struck him hard, and he swayed in the saddle, only managing to steady himself as he turned his horse around. The second time they both missed. Tobias started up again and Qerhan put him over her shoulder, letting him gum at her dress as she rocked him. With a  _crunch_ , Loras's lance struck Sandor and splintered. The former withdrew, dropping his weapon as the latter tumbled to the mud. She watched as he picked himself up to sparse clapping. With the baby in one arm she could not applaud so she stood, grinning down at him. With sore pride more than anything, he stomped back to his tent.

The hand-to-hand helped him to regain whatever respect he had lost, of course. Sandor was a fierce fighter, agile and tactful. He threw down three opponents to come in first, though when he removed his helm his expression was sour, and he received his reward with gruff appreciation. Rowan handed Tobias back to Suzana, who was tired and meant to return to the castle with some of the other girls. She invited Rowan to go with them, but no, she had to find Sandor.

He was busily grooming his stallion when she entered the stables, the same rotten face on him. She near tripped over his armor where he had dumped it on the floor.

"You were shit."

"I know that." He barked back.

"What happened?"

"Head wasn't in it?"

"Where the fuck was it? Essos?"

"Piss off."

Qerhan lifted a hand to scratch Dunk behind the ear. The cunt of stallion proceeded to chew on the sleeve of her dress. She shook him off with a curse.

Sandor snorted. "You deserved that."

"Why? It's not my fault you made an arse of yourself."

"Your damn favor cursed me."

"Excuses, excuses."

"Is there a reason you're here and not off playing wet nurse?"

She raised the heavy wineskin she had bought. "Thought you might like some."

"Clean his back hooves?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Oooh no. I'm doing the front.  _You_ get the back."

Grumbling, he agreed.

They sat among the crates and bales, passing the skin between them. At first Qerhan had dissected his performance that afternoon, but Sandor was clearly still feeling it too acutely, so they switched to commenting on the other competitors.

"You know, Ser Loras is fucking the king's brother." Sandor confided.

Qerhan, unperturbed, took a swig. "I figured. I've seen the way Renly cheers for him."

He muttered something.

"What was that?"

He eyed her uncertainly before saying: "More than you cheered for me."

The words stung. She knew he hadn't meant them to, but they did. "Is that what you want? Me shouting across the crowds for you? Making a holy show of you?"

"No."

"Maybe I'll make a banner next time."

"Maybe I'll burn it."

"You hate fire."

"I'll pay someone to burn it."

"Sandor?"

"Hm?"

"Did you need that money, today?"

"I don't know about  _need -"_

"Don't. Bullshit. Me."

"I was running a little short this month."

"What did you spend it on?"

"...I can't tell you that."

"Why not."

"It's… A surprise."

" _Sandor…"_ She groaned, grabbing him by the tunic. "No more presents!"

"This is the last one, I swear."

"...what is it?"

"You'll find out as soon as it arrives."

"'Arrives'?

Taking the empty skin from her, he threw it to the other side of the tent. Qerhan pressed her lips to his as he undid her dress, kneeling in the straw so she felt taller than him for once. She shrugged it off her shoulders, Sandor sliding his tongue onto her mouth as he stroked her legs. She sucked gladly at it, making him moan.

Breaking just long enough to rid him of his shirt, Qerhan crashed her mouth against his, panting as he used his hand against her , fingers crooking against her sweet spot, thumb brushing her little bundle of nerves. He snarled into her kiss, tearing her smallclothes away and roughly pushing her legs apart before suddenly breaking away to duck between them. Qerhan bit back a cry as his tongue parted her, pushing into her core and darting over her nub. He raised her thighs so that they draped bonelessly over his back, pulling her closer. His fingers leaving dents in her hips as he devoured her.

"Sandor." She whispered, pushing him down, climbing on top of him. "Fuck me."

He growled, hands ripping at her slip in his haste to disrobe her. She made to lie down, but he grabbed her leg, turning her to face the floor. He kissed her back, biting her neck and shoulders, sending shivers down her spine. She felt his tip there, and bit her lip as he rubbed himself against her, teasing her until, frustrated, she reached back and righted him, edging back against him until he filled her.

He shoved her shoulders down, bending over her as he pounded against her, hips slapping against her rear. When he struck her arse, she cried out, not in pain, and he chuckled.

"Quiet now. Quiet. There's no castle walls here."

In spite of what he said, he seemed determined to break her silence, slapping and grabbing her, teeth clamping down on her soft flesh as he struggled to keep quiet himself. " _Shush...shush…_ " Came the whisper as he maneuvered her arms into one of his massive hands, pulling her up and against him as he took her mercilessly. His other hand he used to stimulate her nub, and Qerhan felt her end coming fast, violently crashing through all of her reason.

Sandor, no doubt feeling it, clapped a hand over her mouth as she was overpowered by all that mounting pleasure. He held her fast against him as it coursed through her, not letting go until the last faint whimpers faded.

"Suck me." He demanded, pushing her off and dragging her head down onto his cock.

Taking him completely in her mouth, Qerhan sloppily worked him, flicking her tongue in quick strokes against his head before swallowing him completely again. Sandor thrust into her mouth, hands on her head as he drove upward. After just a few passes he choked back a cry and she tasted his saltiness one her tongue.

She just about had her dress on when they heard footsteps back in the stables. Sandor was there at once, helping her to quickly tie it closed. There came voices calling, and they both swore, Sandor plucking a piece of hay out of her tangled hair.

When Ser Loras and Renly Baratheon walked in, arms thrown around each other, clearly having been struck by the same idea as them, everyone took a long moment to process what they were seeing. Loras broke the silence first with a feminine giggle.

"My lord. My lady."

"My lords." Sandor rumbled back.

"And what might you be doing here?" Renly slurred.

Qerhan grabbed Sandor by the hand and saw about dragging him out. "We were just leaving. Have fun!"


	17. Pure

In the small hours of the morning, a coughing tore through the silence. Qerhan rolled away from it, closing her eyes tightly. The coughing continued, punctuated here and there by a snuffling. She made a noise of complaint and it died away. Then an explosive sneeze jolted her awake.

"Shut the fuck up!"

Another sneeze, reverberating against the stone walls.

"You're supposed to say 'Bless you'."

"I don't want to bless you, I want to sleep."

"You and me both."

He started to cough again, sitting up as it echoed through his chest. He leaned over and spat another mouthful of phlegm into the chamber pot.

Qerhan rolled back to him, pressing a hand to his back. The coughing came again and she patted his back.

"Why the bloody hell are you thumping me?" He moaned nasally.

"It's what we usually do when someone's coughing."

"What for?"

"I dunno actually." She rubbed him instead.

Having caught his breath again, he fell back down to his pillow. Qerhan put her hand to his forehead. "You're warm."

"Aye, I feel it."

"Shall I get the maester?"

"I'm not dying. Wait til morning."

"I don't suppose you have any tea?"

"Don't like tea."

"Of course you don't, but it would help."

She sat up, pulling on her dirty dress and tying it without undergarments.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"To get you something."

He grabbed at her. She danced away from him. "Like hell you are, There'll be no-one awake at this hour!"

"Shanda might be, or Margaret."

"And between here and them? Gods know who might catch you wandering about half dressed!"

Her trunk closed with a thunk, and she showed him her dagger, which she tucked into her sleeve. "I can take care of myself. You, on the other hand - try to sleep."

The made it down to the kitchens unmolested. Just as she'd hoped, she found both Shanda and Margaret already breaking their fast.

"Rowan!" Margaret scolded. "What on earth are you doing walking through the castle like that?"

"He's up there hacking his lungs out." She explained. "I thought you might know something to help him until the maester wakes up."

"That's what happens when you fight in the rain like that." Margaret remarked.

And shag in a stable. "Can you make him something?"

"I have some tea that might help." Shanda offered. "It tastes like piss but it works."

"Thank you."

"Is he warm to the touch, dear?" Margaret asked.

"Yes, a little."

"I'll get you some water for that."

"Thank you."

He was dozing when she returned. Wetting a cloth in the cool water, she touched his face, and he woke.

"Still alive." He jested as she sat him up. She washed his face, chest, arms and legs before pouring the tea. "What's that?"

"Some sort of tea." She replied. "Shanda gave it to me."

"It's green."

"Here."

"I'm not drinking that!"

"It'll help!"

"It looks like she scooped it out of the Trident!"

"Don't be such a baby!"

"I'd rather die!"

Fed up with his dramatic, she took a sip. Immediately regretting it, she turned and spat into the chamber pot like he had done before. He started laughing, which immediately turned to hacking.

"Fucking turn your face away when you do that!"

"Why?" He wheezed.

"I don't want your disease!"

He coughed again, and she shoved his face away.

"We'll die together!" He spluttered. "Any southern girl would call it romantic!"

"Ugh!" She ducked away as he sneezed, but he was good enough to turn away on his own this time. "Drink your fucking medicine!"

He let out a few more throaty coughs and spat again. "Alright give it here."

Despite his complaints and half-gagging, he drained the cup under threat of punishment from her. A spoon of honey and lemon juice followed, which he swallowed without protest.

"Now go to sleep." Qerhan commanded, pushing him back down.

"No kiss good night?"

"Not until you're decontaminated."

They sent for the Maester at first light, who pottered about the room uselessly before he even looked at Sandor. He then asked a million questions, addressing them all to Sandor despite the fact that Qerhan answered him. By the time he finally decided to prescribe some medicine, they were both ready to launch him out the window.

What he gave them ended up not being as effective as what Shanda had given them, surprisingly, save for the mint leaves, which when placed into hot water produced steam that temporarily cleared Sandor's nose and throat. He also, for reasons Qerhan could not initially fathom, gave them some watered-down milk of the poppy. When Sandor took it and finally fell into a peaceful sleep, she was grateful.

He remained in bed for the entire day, and the next. Though she had her own duties to attend to, Qerhan checked on him several times a day, occasionally even asking Suzana and Margaret to drop in on him when she hadn't the time. About halfway through the third day, Margaret took the cloth from her hand as she was cleaning dishes.

"Go on up to him."

"I thought you went up."

"I did. Now don't worry, he's fine, just miserable." Margaret said. "Cheer is as good as medicine."

He was seated on the edge of the bed as she entered, hacking over the basin of mint water Margaret had given him. He smiled feebly when he saw her. "Thought you were scrubbing dishes?"

"I was. Margaret said you were pining after me."

"I wasn't pining, I just asked when you'd be done!"

"Told me you were halfway to tears."

"Did she now?"

"Said you were sick as a dog."

He looked ready to throw the basin at her. Qerhan sat beside him, putting an arm across his back and kissing his cheek.

"Thought you didn't want my disease?"

"Your fever's gone down."

"So we can -"

"Not if you paid me."

They both laughed at that.

A knock came at the door, and they exchanged a confused glance. Qerhan tossed Sandor a shirt as she went to answer it. She was taken back by the sight of the Imp, accompanied by Princess Myrcella. She bowed, regaining the demeanour of a servant.

"Princess, my lord. I'm afraid Lord Clegane is unwell at present and -"

"We know." Tyrion interrupted. "And the little one here has been asking for him for three days straight. Is he dying?"

"No."

"Then he is well enough to receive us."

Qerhan frowned down at the little lord, then looked to Sandor, who was sitting up properly in bed. He nodded.

"Please come in."

She brought the chairs over for the Imp and Myrcella. The princess surprised her by jumping up onto the bed to sit on Sandor's lap. She bit back a grin. Tyrion turned to her. "He looks well enough. What's wrong with him?"

She clasped her hands before her. "I was told he's been coughing something fierce. And his temperature -"

"You were told?" The Little Shit echoed. "I'm sorry are you not the same woman I met before?"

Qerhan nodded in the direction of the child.

"Oh, please, she's not stupid." Tyrion said. "Myrcella, this is the Hound's lady friend."

The princess, who had been yapping up at Sandor, turned to look at her, then back to him. "Is she taking care of you?"

"I suppose." He replied, ignoring the Look shot at him from across the room.

"Then why are you still sick?"

"That's a good question."

The two of them turned to her for the answer. Qerhan managed to stammer out: "He's not been very good about taking his medicine, I'm afraid."

Tyrion gasped loudly. "Shame on you, Hound! How can you ever get better if you don't take your medicine!"

This time Sandor received the child's judgement.

"It's nasty stuff." He told her, making a face.

Qerhan giggled in spite of herself. The little girl on his knee, however, did not see the humor in it.

"But you must get better!" She urged, concerned.

He looked guilty. "I am. I took it all today. Qerhan made sure of it."

"Qerhan?" She heard Tyrion repeat, looking at her.

"You really are a silly old dog, aren't you!" Myrcella said, pouting. "When I was sick, I took all of my medicine!"

Qerhan sat at the foot of the bed, enjoying this. "Didn't it taste bad?"

Myrcella stuck her tongue out. "Like turnips."

"Sandor's medicine tastes even worse than turnips." She responded. "Doesn't it?"

Myrcella gasped, seeing him nod.

"I have to give him honey afterward."

Tyrion choked back his laughter. Sandor and Qerhan, knowing what he had assumed, glared at him. Thankfully, the princess took this as it was meant. "Does that make it better?"

"Much better." He answered, smiling sweetly. Qerhan thought her heart would burst.

The Imp stood. "Come now, Princess. I promised your mother just a few minutes."

"You will take all of your medicine?" Myrcella pleaded.

Sandor nodded. "Every last drop."

With a kiss on the cheek for the Hound, the little girl hopped back down. As she passed Qerhan, she leaned forward to whisper: "You'll make sure, won't you? You'll make him better?"

"Promise."

Reluctantly, the princess took her uncle's hand and let him lead her out.

Qerhan joined Sandor on the bed, grinning stupidly as she kissed his face.

"What?" He laughed.

"Nothing."


	18. Stay

"Do you remember that present I mentioned?"

"Huh?"

"At the tourney."

"That was two months ago, how do you expect me to remember that?"

"I overestimated you, sorry."

Qerhan pinched him.

"Ow!" He slapped her arse back. "Anyway, it'll be here tomorrow."

"What sort of present takes  _two months_  to get here? Where is it coming from?"

"None of your business."

"Do you think it's something exotic?" Suzana mused.

Qerhan, busy trying to wrestle Tobias into his shirt, took a moment to respond. "I doubt it. Neither of us know about or care much for extravagant stuff."

"How much did you spend on that knife?"

"That's practical."

"Maybe this is, too?"

"I got the impression that it took this long to  _make_."

"So a weapon? Or clothes?"

"Two months is far too long for either of those things."

"Jewelry?"

"Again, too fancy."

"To be perfectly honest I can't imagine the Hound going to such lengths to get a present for  _anyone_."

"To be honest, he sounded excited about it. So maybe it's for him as well?"

"In that case, don't ask me."

It was just her luck that she got held back by Shanda that evening. By the time she was released, she all but sprinted through the castle to their room. Sandor opened the door when she arrived. Pressing a finger to his lips, he pulled her in, placing a hand over her eyes.

"What on earth?"

"Just come over here and sit down."

She let him guide her to the table. When she sat, he told her to keep her eyes closed. Qerhan obeyed, peeking under her eyelashes just a little. Of a sudden, she felt something wet and warm against her hand, and yelped, eyes flying open.

And looked down into two warm brown eyes.

" _Oh my goodness!_ " She cooed, kneeling down to greet the puppy; a huge, black thing that leapt up to lick her face. Qerhan hugged him, trying to restrain him and love him at the same time. "Who is this handsome boy!"

Sandor knelt to bring him back by the collar. The pup sat back and bit at the hand holding him. "Hasn't got a name yet. I thought you might like to choose one."

"Where did you get him?"

"My father's brother still breeds them, even if the Keep can't."

"He's  _huge_! How old is he?"

"About four months. He's a hunting hound. Probably will get about  _this_ big by the time he's full grown." He gestured to a height Qerhan hadn't known dogs grew to. "You once told me you liked dogs."

"We always had dogs, back home. They kept the wolves and bears away from the livestock." She said. "Never ones so big, though."

"Well these are expertly bred." He bragged. "Not some northern mongrels."

She shoved Sandor back, and he tottered, losing hold of the pup, who jumped at him. This time Qerhan grabbed the animal back, massaging his head in a way that used to calm her dogs. He yawned.

"Do you like him?"

"I  _love_  him."

For a moment Sandor looked uneasy.

"What?"

"The king is due to ride north next week."

"What for?"

"His Hand died recently. And he's going to Winterfell to appoint a new one."

"I suppose you're going?"

"I have to, yes."

"Is that what this is for?" She asked, cradling the puppy like a baby in her arms, which he seemed to like.

"I thought he might keep you company."

"I hope you didn't mean him as security."

"Not yet, no."

"How long will you be gone?"

"Months."

" _Months_ …"

"I wouldn't be going if I didn't have to."

"I know, just...Remember to come back."

"Qerhan."

_Groan_.

A hand brushed her belly. A warm weight pressed against her back. Lips touched her shoulder, slowly following its line to her neck, where they sucked. The fingers tickled as they circled her breasts, and she wriggled. Teeth and her neck now, scraping, tugging the soft flesh and a tongue that savored her taste.

Qerhan did not move. By now he surely knew she was awake, but he was in no hurry this morning. She squirmed when he nibbled her earlobe, the huff of his breath calm, steadily increasing along with her own. He kissed her cheek and jaw, seeking her mouth as the traced her curves. His other hand he slid under her, pressing her to him, cupping her breast.

She sighed, turning her head to meet his lips. Lightly, he brushed them against her own, one after the other, his tongue coaxing her mouth open. Qerhan met it with her own as it sought entry, another sigh passing through her as he stroked her thighs, easing them gradually apart. She grabbed his wrist after a while, planting it firmly between her legs.

He sniggered. "Easy. There's no rush."

With four fingers at once he lightly touched her, teasing every inch of her sex, raising himself away from her to see her reaction. Qerhan, as always, met his iron-grey gaze, whimpering at his attentions, wishing for more. She was slick by the time he tested her with his index finger, and he let out a gruff  _hmm_ of approval. A second finger and she arched against him, a purring noise escaping her lips.

" _Sandor_ …"

He grinned, his face millimetres from hers, eyes never leaving hers. He scissored his fingers within her.

"Say it again.

She tried to kiss him but he pulled back. His fingers crooked once more, palm grinding deliciously against her exterior.

" _Sandor._ "

" _Again._ "

Struck by a wicked notion, she smirked up at him. "Make me."

He growled then, pressing his hand harder against her, stoking her inner fire with every press of his long digits. Qerhan moaned.

"Say it."

Oh no, she shook her head, this game was far too much fun. She saw the flash of frustration in his eyes, and the way he grinned at the challenge. When she moaned again, he looked so hopeful.

" _Say it."_

It was her turn to chuckle. "I told you:  _make_ me."

To her dismay, he removed his hand then, but saw the mischievous look on his face. She made not a sound, just held his gaze as she felt his cock press between her legs. He didn't enter her, no, that was too easy. Instead he began to move against her, she heat of his hard member sending jolts up through her body. Moving her top leg forward allowed him to do this more effectively, teasing her entrance before sliding up along her in a way that was both pleasant and not enough.

"You want me to fuck you? Then say it."

She licked her lips. "Sandor."

"Ask me nicely."

She scoffed, and to her dismay he pulled away from her, twisting her and pinning her wrists down, hovering so close to her yet out of reach.

" _Ask nicely_."

"Sandor...fuck me, please."

"Good girl."

Positioning her arse properly, he manoeuvred himself so that his hardness found its way to her. Qerhan was so wet that he was able to push inside without assistance, and they moaned in unison.

Eyes locked on her, Sandor began to move slowly, moving into her and rolling his hips so that Qerhan blurted a loud " _Aaah!"_ He tutted, kissing her. "It's not morning yet. Everyone's probably asleep."

He continued like that, rolling and rotating his hips in this new position, reaching his fingers down to touch her pearl. Beneath him Qerhan trembled and gasped, nuzzling him, touching his face as he fulfilled her.

At long last, his face pulled into something akin to a grimace, eyes fluttering shut and then open again. He was struggling to hold on. " _Qerhan…"_

"Yes." She answered.

He quickened his pace, ploughing up into her with a loud grunt. A wave of sensation rolled over her and she tried to match his movements.

"Qerhan, I can't…"

"Shhhh relax."

He slowed near to stopping, bending to suck her nipples, fingers circling her clit rapidly. Oh, she felt so good, but she needed more. She rocked against him, willing him to move again. She was so close.

"Sandor." She breathed. "Sandor please."

"I can't, I'm going to-"

She grabbed at his hip. " _Please."_

He looked at her, questioning.

"Please, I want you."

"You want me to…?"

" _Yes."_

Something strange came over his face then. Qerhan couldn't place it. He withdrew slowly and slammed up into her. She cried out.

"Yes?"

" _Please!_ "

Again, and she felt her senses crumbling around her.

"You want it?"

" _Yes, Sandor, yes!_ "

Faster now. She could feel him tensing. His eyes burning.

"I'm going to-"

"Please! Please!"

The force of his thrusts burned through her limbs, ecstasy pushing out ragged breaths as he thrust one, twice, thrice more into her. His jaw slackened into a silent cry, and there it was, the heat of his seed inside her.

They both lay there for a moment, staring at each other as they contemplated what they had done.

Sandor was the first to speak: "I'm sorry."

"No," Qerhan stroked his face, the panic seeping into his eyes. "No, I told you too."

"Still, I shouldn't have done that."

"It's fine, I'll take care of it."

"But what if you…"

"It's fine."

He frowned at her. " _Fine_? Do you  _want_ a baby?"

"No."

"Then how is it  _fine?_ "

"Because I trust you."

Despite their fright. They both managed to sleep another hour. Qerhan would have slept longer, but she heard him rattling about in his metal suit. The bed dipped as he sat down. She opened her eyes and saw him, ready to leave. Dakra, the ever-growing pup, sat at his feet, licking his face farewell.

Qerhan sat up, and he sent the dog to bed. When he saw her the look in his eye was grim, unreadable. As she gazed at him, she wondered what she was meant to say. What did ladies say to their lords when they parted? If they were Free Folk she would be going with him. She thought about saying this, even opened her mouth to, and choked.

He started, clearly surprised. "Qerhan?"

Again, she tried to say something, but the words wouldn't come, instead she put a hand to her mouth to cover a sob.

He tried to laugh, even managed a "stupid bitch", but that only made her sob harder, throwing her arms around his shoulders and burying her face in his neck. He pulled her to him, stroking her hair and kissing her head.

"Don't be silly." He told her. "I won't be gone long."

"I know." She managed. But it didn't help, she continued to cry. She knew she was being stupid too, but just seeing him like this, ready to walk out the door and leave her behind, broke her. "I'm sorry. I'm stupid."

"No. Don't say that, any of it." He replied, his voice now thick. "I'll miss you, too."

The words cracked at the end, and she looked up at him. Sure enough, there were tears streaking down his cheeks now, too. He tried to look away but she caught him, kissing them away.

"I love you." She said, pressing her lips to his.

His face scrunched up in a single, powerful sob. " _I love you_."


	19. Hello

" _Rowan come here and get your dog out of the kitchen!"_

Sparing Suzana an exasperated glance, she threw down her groom and jogged toward Shanda's shout. She had shut Dakra in Suzana's room, but he was now big enough to reach the latch. Though he wasn't smart enough to figure it out completely, he knew that if he pawed at it enough, it sometimes opened. Thus he could get into the pantry and the kitchen to steal food.

She found Shanda trying to haul a drooling dog away from the counter, where a whole leg of salted pork sat waiting to be carved. He did not even see her when she came it, so intent was he on his mid evening snack.

"Dakra!"

At the sound of her voice, the pup froze, and turned to whine up at her, brown eyes pleading. She put her hands on her hips and he lowered himself submissively to the floor, tail wagging.

" _What_ do you think you're doing?"

He tried his best to look sorry, he really did, putting his head on his paws and crying loudly.

"You know better than this!  _Out!"_

A sharp bark of defiance, she stepped forward.

" _Out!"_

Moving as slowly as possible, he raised himself up and slunk, tail between his legs, out the door. He gave her one last, mournful stare on the threshold.

" _Now."_

He stepped out of the kitchen and laid down next to the door, staring in at them with those expressive eyes. Margaret, who sat at the table bathing Tobias, put a hand over her heart in sympathy. Rowan turned her attention to her. "Don't encourage him."

"Oh, but  _look_  at him!"

"He has to learn!"

"Margaret." Shanda ventured. "Have you been giving him scraps again?"

Pinned between their gazes, the older woman cringed. "I can't help it when he stares up at me like that!"

"Margaret." Rowan implored. "I promised Sandor I'd train him while he was away. Please, try to be stricter, or I'll have nothing to show for it."

"'Sandor'?" Shanda echoed, winking.

"...That's his name." She responded, flushing. "...and it's beside the point!"

"Alright, Rowan. I understand." Margaret conceded. "I'll tell him 'no' in future."

" _Thank you._ "

"While you're here, Rowan." Shanda said. "What do you have planned for when  _Sandor_ gets home? I hear they're Just a few days off."

_Besides fuck him blind?_  "I...um...hadn't thought about it."

"Margaret and I have been talking about it." The cook went on.

"Why don't you take a day or two off? Spend some time together."

"He'll be on duty. There'd be no point."

"No." Margaret corrected. "They usually take a few days' respite after a journey like that. Have to wait for the new Hand to get settled in and all that."

"Oh…" Rowan said. "In that case...I mean if you really don't mind…"

When word that the king's party had reached King's Landing eventually trickled down to them, Rowan was in the middle of polishing the good silverware with Suzana. Margaret came to dismiss her, smiling as she pushed her away from the table and removed the cloth from her hands.

"Go on, you lovesick dolt. And leave the dog here." She commanded, making Suzana giggle. "You'll be back in two days, and you'll make up for this then."

She took a platter of cold food and a flagon of Dornish Red up to the room, surprised when she found the door already open. As she neared, Gail and another girl hurried out, almost crashing into her.

"Oh! There you are Rowan! Lord Clegane has just called for a bath, could you help set it up?"

She nodded. A bath for him meant a bath for her. She helped put together the round copper tub, line and cover it. The others went to fetch the water and she took some fresh clothes and laid them over his chair.

The door swung open and she turned to give some instruction to Gail, stopping when she saw the hulking figure blocking out the light from the hall. He looked exhausted, shuffling into the room and depositing his helm and gauntlets on the stool. Still, he grinned down at her as he unstrapped his sword.

"Hello."

Qerhan took a faltering step forward. "Hello."

Sandor had not expected her to spring on him, and staggered back against the wall, his booming laugh muted when she covered his mouth with hers. He held her up in spite of how tired he was, holding her suffocatingly tight.

"Rowan, I saw-!" Gail charged into the room and skidded to a halt when she saw them locked together. "Oh. Never mind. "

Sandor put her down, glaring at the other girl, who shrank. Qerhan made him sit in her chair while she took his armor off, hissing at him to stop scaring her friend. He stopped, watching quietly as the others filled his bath.

Gail set the rack across the tub and bowed out of the room, Rowan laughed, winking at her. The girl giggled, shutting the door gently.

Sandor pulled at her dress. "You too."

He half-fell into the tub as she undressed, sighing when he was fully immersed in the warm water. She stepped in after him, embracing him again.

"You're worn out."

"No shit." He retorted.

Qerhan kissed him gently. "I missed you."

"You too." He muttered against her cheek.

"We both did."

" _Both?"_ He blurted, and she didn't catch her mistake til he pressed a hand to her belly.

" _I meant the dog you buffoon!"_

"If you mean the dog, say the dog! By the gods!"

He took a few calming breaths.

She rubbed his shoulders. "It's fine. I bled last month."

"There's a relief."

He guided her hand to the point where his muscles were most muscles and she kneaded obediently, letting him lie peacefully back against the tub. After massaging his neck, she looped her arms around him to dig her knuckles into his shoulders and back, making him purr huskily.

At length, he asked: "What does it mean, when women say they bled?"

She spluttered. Definitely not what she was expecting. "Did…did no one ever tell you?!"

"Of course!" He shot back. "I know you bleed out of your...out of your cunt. I just meant...er…"

"It's fine, you can ask me." She urged, laughing.

"If you're bleeding, how come it doesn't hurt?"

Qerhan snorted. "Who said it doesn't hurt? Some  _man_ I'll bet!"

"So.. It does?"

"Uh-huh."

"Badly?"

"Sometimes."

"But I've never heard you complain."

She shrugged. "Not much good complaining, is there? There's naught to be done about it."

"See, they don't tell us that." He was blushing profusely by now. "So you're just carrying on as it stings you?"

"It doesn't  _sting_." She explained. "You know, um...you know when you run for too long and your sides start to hurt? It's like that."

" _All day_?"

"Well I usually last four days, but yes."

" _Four days_?"

She sniggered, kissing his chest. "Oh, you innocent soul."

"...how much blood?"

This time Qerhan made a face. "I never measured."

"A few drops? A cupful?"

"Several cups."

"You lose several cups over  _four_   _days_ and don't die?"

"...A day."

"What?"

"Several cups  _a day."_

He stared at her. "Just as I suspected."

"What's that?"

"Women aren't human."

"She  _really_ hit the prince?"

"Apparently, I wasn't there to see it." He answered. "Wish I had been."

"You and me both."

"Anyway, the wolf got away, and the butcher's boy ran, so we got sent after him." He went on. "The queen said 'dead or alive', but everyone knew she meant to kill him anyway…"

"Did you…"

"I killed him."

"Oh."

"Slashed him right open."

" _Ugh_."

"I'm sure the Hand wanted to have words with me, when he saw it. But I just kept walking. Better to die by the sword than let Cersei get her hands on him. And Joffrey...that boy's vicious. I've seen the things he's done to some of the animals he's gotten ahold of."

"He'll be king. Someday." Qerhan said in disgust.

"Fit to rival Aerys himself."

"The girls?"

"They got a talking to, and Stark killed the other wolf as penance."

"Not a great trip in all, was it?"

"Fucking nightmare." He looked at her as she lay across his chest. "Do you hate me for it? For killing the boy?"

"No." She answered simply. "You took no joy in it, and as you said, I'm sure a worse fate awaited him with the queen."

"The girl hates me. Both of them."

"So would I, if I were them."

"I have a bad feeling about this." He went on. "About this hand. He's too righteous. I don't think being here will do him any good. There's too many secrets here and if he starts poking his nose where it doesn't belong...well. He won't be around long."

Qerhan rolled to meet his eye properly. "What sort of secrets?"

"If I worry about  _him_  knowing I sure as hell ain't telling you."

She scowled up at him.

"Don't make that face. Someday, if things ever get better, I'll tell you. But no sooner."


	20. I am yours, you are mine

Qerhan got her first glimpse of the Starks just a few days later, when their father ordered food to their room. He was a enough tall man, his dark hair and beard shot with grey to match his eyes. Though he had the colouring of Sandor, they could not have been more different. Lord Stark was quiet, pensive, and noble. His face squarer and shoulders narrower. He was neat and proper where Sandor was rough round the edges.

Not bad looking, though.

His daughters were pretty as one could expect, the younger one taking after her father while Qerhan could only guess the elder took after her mother. The little one, Arya, was full of fire, dressed in boy's clothes and nattering away with her father. Sansa, on the other hand, was pining over Prince Joffrey to an unfortunate septa.

"That poor girl doesn't know what she's getting herself into."

"Idiot's so silly for prince cock she can't see what's going on right in front of her." Sandor agreed, pouring more wine.

Qerhan stuck out her tongue in disgust. "She's twelve. And the prince is what? Fifteen?"

"She's almost a woman."

"They're children, both of them!" She said. "Should be obvious by their dreadful choices."

"I know that." He responded. "But there's not I can do about it. It's the way things are!"

"Married so young…" She shuddered. Then, turning on him: "Why aren't you married?"

He choked on his wine. "...what?"

"If it's 'the way things are', how come your parents didn't marry you off when you were a child?"

"Tried to, no-one would have me." He muttered glumly.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm big and I'm mean and I'm ugly!" He fired back. Then his expression softened and he added. "...sorry."

"So's your brother, and they managed to marry him. More than once."

He poked at the scraps on his face. "I didn't want to."

"Didn't want to get married?"

"Not to someone who can't bear to look at me."

Qerhan swirled her wine around in her cup. "Lucky for me southern girls are idiots, I guess."

He eyed her questioningly. "What makes you say that?"

She looked him over. "Man like you, north of the wall? A big, strong warrior? Hmph. I'd have my work cut out for me, trying to get ahold of you."

He gestured to his face meaningfully. Qerhan rolled her eyes and continued: "Think the free folk care about that? We spend our lives struggling and fighting. Everyone has something to show for it. No, free folk care that someone's smart enough to survive, strong enough to keep the beasts at bay, and good enough to protect those that need protecting."

He stood, and offered his hand, which she took, letting him pull her to her feet.

"So what you're saying is," He said. "I'm the perfect man."

She shoved him playfully. "Not perfect. A good one, maybe."

"If we were up there, and you saw me, what would you do?" He asked.

"I'd let you steal me."

An eyebrow shot up. "Steal you."

"That's what you'd do. Run away with me and make me yours."

"What...like…?" Without warning, he heaved her up and over his shoulder. Qerhan shrieked with delight, laughing as he took her to the bed. He tossed her down. "Like this?"

She grinned wolfishly up. "Like this."

"Now what?"

"I try to get away from you."

She turned, trying to scramble away, but he was too quick. Sandor caught the back of her dress and yanked her back. A ripping sound pierced the air, and she slapped at his leg. "You're tearing my dress!"

"I'll buy you a new one." He was on her now, legs over hers, clasping her wrists, weight pushing her into the bed. "Now what?"

"I try to fight you off -" Qerhan pushed herself up, and he let out a surprised bark of laughter as she unseated him. He got her round her waist with his arms and they both tumbled back, laughing. She wiggled, pushing him back with her her elbows, claw in at his hands.

"Got you." He growled gleefully. He shoved his hand down her dress and pulled. This time the fabric really tore, and she swore angrily at him. His success was short-lived, however, as she found her footing and rolled them again. She landed on his stomach, winding him, and he giggled. Qerhan sat there and, taking out one of her little knives, pointed it at his crotch.

He froze: "Now what?"

"Now I decide if I want you or not."

A gulp. "Well?"

She felt the fear rise in him as her knife hand moved. The blade made quick work of his belt.

"Oi!"

"I'll buy you a new one."

He went to complain again, but her knife found his throat this time, and he shut up. His eyes darkened, and she knew he liked this. Lowering it again, she cut the ties of his breeches, dangerously close to what he held dear. His eyes went wide, but he didn't move. Placing the knife on the table, she straddled him, removing the remains of her clothes slowly.

"Any more questions?"

"No, I'm familiar with this part."

She urged him into a sitting position. "Shirt. Off."

He obeyed.

Qerhan reached her hand down, grasping his shoulder as she freed his member. Brushing his hair out of his face, she brought her lips to his as she took him. Moving up and down onto him, a snarl escaping her mouth as he stretched her. Sandor grunted in response, biting at her chest as he cradled her to him.

Presently, he gazed up at her, eyes searching her face. Qerhan pressed her forehead to his as he asked: "Are you mine?"

She smiled, arms closing tighter around him. "Yes."

"Am I yours?"

"Yes."

Panting, he fell back, bringing her down with him. Locking his mouth to hers, he shifted his legs so he could swiftly pump up into her. Qerhan blurted something incomprehensible, hips moving involuntarily.

"Sandor."

He jerked with his orgasm, once again pulling her up, letting his cock slide out behind her, shedding his cum onto her arse.

Holding her there, he panted like the dog he was, looking up into her face, he struggled to form the words: "What did you say, just now?"

She bit her lip. "Mea-khli."

"What's that?"

"It's like 'mine'?"

"How is it unlike mine?"

"It's only really used…" She gestured from him to her.

"Between partners?"

She nodded. "Sha."

"One word at a time." He said, distinctly focused. "How do you say it."

Qerhan formed the syllables carefully. "May-ah...khli."

Tried to repeat looking disgruntled when she laughed.

"It's in the back of your throat." She instructed, repeating the kh for him.

"Sounds like you're trying to dislodge a chicken bone."

A pinch for that. "Just because you can't say it!"

"May- aa- klee!"

"Mea- khli!"

"That's what I said!"


	21. The Hand's Tourney

The king naturally held a tourney for his new Hand, and naturally the whole castle was expected to attend. For Qerhan, the novelty of tournaments had worn off. Hearing Sandor grumble about them had done it for her.

"Fucking playing at war." He rasped as she strapped on his vambraces. "And this time Gregor is here again. Be lucky if no one gets killed. Shagging pointless."

"You're not fighting him, are you?"

"No, they know better than to pit us against each other. Be a fucking bloodbath."

"And they'd be short one knight."

"I'm not so sure about that." He remarked. "But it's true if the two of us ever go head to head, it'll be to the death."

She pulled him down to kiss his cheek. "A fight for another day."

"Huh, maybe tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"It's a two-day event."

" _Two days?"_

As before, he arranged seats, this time for her, Suzana, Gail and Margaret. Though he'd complained loudly about it, he had gotten them the very day after her asked, and even accepted an awkward hug from an inebriated Margaret when he ventured into the kitchen that night. Qerhan, equally full of wine, had lost her reason laughing at the look on his face.

She sat, half-listening to the conversation next to her, and looked out at the crowd. Everyone was in their finery today. Even she had donned the red dress she so rarely took out. Sandor liked her very much in it, but he was not allowed to touch her gowns presently, not until he replaced the one he had ruined. When she went to do her hair, he stopped her hand.

"Leave it down." He urged.

Both Sandor and his brother rode well. He was vicious today, Qerhan noted with a hint of pride. When he knocked the king's brother, she smirked up at him. He rode past, turning his head to her for the first time that day, the light of his eyes pinning her as they so often did. In her chest, her heart leapt.

The day began to grow long, and still the jousting was not done. Qerhan was falling asleep where she sat, and said as much to Margaret.

"Is he to ride again?"

"The Hound? No, he's probably snuck off to see to the wine."

Excusing herself, Qerhan edged out between the seats. Winding her way through the tents and pavilions, she began to question her decision to look for Sandor and wondered if she should return to the others. But no, the other riders held no interest for her and -

A hand clapped down on her shoulder and she started.

"Now, now. I only want to say hello." It was Petyr Baelish, a man Sandor had described to her as a 'cunt worm'. Qerhan had seen him a dozen times before, of course, at court, at tourneys, occasionally about the halls as he harassed the maids. They had not spoken til now, and she had not before noticed how short he was.

"You've said it." She replied, turning. He caught her arm.

"Not very friendly, are we?" He had a voice like a viper.

"No." She tried to shake him off, but his grip was like a vice. "Let go."

"Like I said, I wanted to say 'hello', and I'm not finished yet."

"Oh, yes you are."

She yanked again, he was hurting her now. When he reached to take her other hand, she slapped him. Slapped that friendly demeanor right off his face.

"You little  _bitch_!"

A shadow fell over them. Baelish, full of malicious intent, failed to notice it. Only when an enormous hand closed around his neck did he try to peer back at his assailant. The bigger man lifted him like a doll, fingers tightening round his skinny little neck.

"You touch her again," Sandor Clegane snarled. "And I'll rip your fucking head off."

Baelish, unable to speak, only nodded, clawing at his hand. Point taken, Sandor let him drop. The little man scrambled up, bowing to Qerhan as he departed.

"My lady."

"Don't speak to me."

He hurried away. Sandor's fingers brushed her arm. "Did he harm you?"

She rubbed the point where his fingers had dug into her. "Might bruise, but I'll survive."

"I could probably still catch him if you want me to-"

"No, leave it." She said. "Let's get some wine."

The stables were far too busy for them to hide away in on this day, so Sandor led her behind some of the Tyrell tents, which were practically empty. There they sat, drinking and picking away at a platter of cheeses, most of which Qerhan was reasonably afraid of.

"Why's this one blue?"

"Cause it is."

"This one looks rotten."

"That's the way they make it."

"Why so they make it-"

"Just fucking pick one!"

She picked a soft white one and nibbled on the edge. He barked with laughter when she grimaced.

"If you don't like it just toss it away."

Qerhan nibbled again, eyes watering a little less this time.

"I can't tell."

"Can't tell if you like it or not?"

Steeling herself, she took a sizeable bite, letting it coat her tongue.

"Not bad."

He pushed the plate toward her, letting her poke and sniff the wedges to her heart's content. As the wine warmed them, he reached out to touch her hair, then traced the neckline of her dress.

"It suits you."

"Hm, I like it, too." She agreed.

"Almost feel bad, having to destroy it."

"Oh, no you -"

He lunged at her, and she shrieked in spite of herself, darting away.

"Don't scream like that!" He laughed, trying in vain to catch hold of her. "Gods know who might come running to the rescue!"

"Perhaps some gallant knight!"

He lurched past her and she stepped around him. He was drunk now, and unfocused. So was she, but she was the faster.

"Oh, you'd like that? Some handsome hero like Loras sweeping in to steal you away!"

"I don't really think I'm his type!"

Sandor started to chuckle at that, and stopped. "Come here."

"No!"

" _Come here_ , you silly bitch!"

"I like this dress!"

"I'm not going to rip it!"

She paused. "You're not?"

"Not if you're good."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

He bent down to receive her folding her into his arms in a deep, slow kiss. Qerhan clung to his red tunic, and time seemed to freeze around them as they stood there like that. After a time, a voice tore across the camp: " _Dog!",_ and Sandor growled.

"Little shit."

"Ignore him."

"You know I can't do that."

She refused to let go of him.

"You go on up." He urged, gently removing her hands. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

Grudgingly, she released him. Another call rang through the evening sky, and he slapped her arse as he hurried back to his duties.

She couldn't remember when she had fallen asleep, but woke to Sandor's weight dipping the mattress. He threw his great arm across her, pulling her into his chest and kissing her head.

"Sandor?" She mumbled groggily.

" _Sshhh_ go back to sleep, love."

_Love._ "Where were you?"

"I had to escort that fool of a Stark girl to bed."

"The redhead?"

"Aye." A pause. "I frightened her."

"I'm sure you didn't."

"No, I mean on purpose."

"Why?"

"I hate the way she looks at me."

"How's that?"

"Like I'm a monster out of one of her fairytales."

In the dark, Qerhan's hand found his face. "Just wait til she gets to know the Lannisters better."


	22. Near Things

The second day came, bright and early. Once again Qerhan helped Sandor into his armor. She was an expert at it now, and could have him done faster than he could do it himself.

"Why don't you have a squire?"

"I'm not a knight."

"Surely you can hire someone to do this for you."

"Don't need anyone. I have you."

"How sweet."

"I didn't mean to be sweet."

She showered his face with kisses until he shoved her playfully off.

"Who did this, before I came along?"

"Believe it or not I can manage myself well enough." He replied. "Besides, it gave me a good excuse bring maids into my room."

"Such as who?"

"Why do you want to know that?"

"I'll kill them."

He howled with laughter, grabbing her round the waist and restraining her while she loudly objected. "Jealous?"

"Not jealous. But one should never suffer their rivals to live."

"You've no rivals, believe me."

Despite the huge turnout, they managed to find seats near the front on this day, which Suzana bragged loudly about. She wore a pretty pink dress - one Qerhan had bought for her nameday, while her wildling friend had once again donned her red gown.

Lord Stark and his eldest daughter were there again, with the girl's septa once again keeping an eye on her. As she watched, she caught the eye of that snake Baelish, who was seated behind the girl. He leaned forward, uncomfortably close, and whispered something. At once she child's gaze fixed on hers, and, seeing Qerhan looking back, focused on her hands. The serpent smirked. Lord Stark, having overheard, was eyeing her with mild interest.

What did that little worm say?

There was no time to wonder, however, as the first two riders took the field. Qerhan almost laughed at Jaime Lannister's armor, it was so bright and gaudy.

"Does he hope to fight people in it or blind them with it?" She commented, who was too intent on the Kingslayer to pay much attention.

Turning back to Jaime, who was now passing in front of them, she caught his eye, and he blew a kiss. Several of the women and some of the men around her swooned and sighed, but her attention shifted to Sandor. His eyes burned into her from within the Hound's maw.

He's trying to goad you. Don't fall for it.

Indeed he almost did. When he fell for Jaime's trick, Qerhan hissed and swore, willing him to stay in the saddle. He just about righted himself for the turn. This time he knocked the queen's pretty brother, and she was possibly the only one to genuinely applaud. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the Stark girl staring.

The second joust of the day was between Ser Loras Tyrell and Gregor Clegane, or it was meant to be. Sandor's brother seemed to be having trouble controlling his horse. It reared, and Qerhan willed him to fall. Hearing the noise, that snarling hound's helm appeared a few feet away from her, as though he could already smell Gregor's blood. The stallion broke into a gallop, snorting and charging out of control. Loras' mare moved like water, and with a quick tap, the Knight of the Flowers sent the Mountain crashing to the ground, horse and all.

Qerhan heard it first, a rasp, then rising above every other sound on the field. She caught Sandor looking to her and they both burst out laughing. Only to be brought up short when Gregor called for his sword. The stallion went down first with a horrible screech, dark blood pouring out over the sand. Sandor was already calling for his sword by the time his brother turned on Loras, charging across the field to intercept his brother.

When had she stood up? She was not the only one. Her hands clenched at her sides, nails biting into her palms.

Sandor…

It seemed to go on for an age, the two brothers hacking at each other. Behind her, Qerhan could hear people taking bets. But what was wrong with Sandor? Gregor was angry, sloppy, attacking savagely and oftentimes leaving himself wide open to attack. Every time the Mountain's blade jabbed at the Hound's helm, her heart leapt into her mouth.

At last King Robert, no longer entertained, stood and commanded them to stop. Sandor fell to one knee, but not before Gregor made one last slash. When his brother's blade sang mere inches above Sandor's head, Qerhan screamed. For a moment the world reeled, and next thing Suzana had her arm around her. The other girl held her up.

"It's alright, Rowan!" She told her. "He's won!"

"Won?"

"Loras just gave the victory to Sandor! He's got the champion's purse!"

Looking up, Qerhan saw Loras leading Sandor around the field. As her breathing slowed, the cheers of the people rose up to fill her ears. Even the Stark girl was standing, more for Loras than the Hound. Her father glanced over, and seeing Qerhan's face, offered a sympathetic smile. She frowned and turned away.

The Knight of the Flowers, hand at the Hound's back, led him past them and towards the Tyrell tent. Ser Loras held his arm up, waving to the people. Sandor, helm held firmly under his arm, looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. As they neared, Sandor met her eye. Qerhan did not applaud, only mouthed three words, and his hard expression broke into a smile.

Her hands were still trembling, she noted as she lifted her cup to her lips. All the different ways Sandor could have fallen today flashed through her mind: Gregor's sword through his gut, Gregor's sword through his skull, his head rolling through the sand because he chose to duck just a second too late.

Fuck Gregor, fuck Loras, fuck the hand and his fucking tourney.

Suzana, thankfully, was attempting to talk about anything but what had happened that day. She had just finished a monologue regarding the queen's recent hairstyle choices, when she at once sprang from her seat.

"Ser Loras!"

Qerhan groaned. "Suzana…"

"No, Rowan, look!"

She did so. Sure enough, Loras was winding his way between the tables, coming towards them. Seeing her, he waved, and about two dozen eyes turned to glare at her.

"My lady, he wishes to speak with you." He told her, leaning across the table. "Now, now, worry not. He's fine, just...well, come along."

Her offered his arm to her, now draped in blue silk rather than his shining silver armor. As Qerhan took it, she felt the heat of people's judgment at her back. Even Lord Stark's pretty daughter looked fit to kill her. She almost laughed.

He was seated in Loras' tent when they arrived. Qerhan observed his gold doublet; the one she favored so much, and felt her cheeks warm. Loras retreated from her before Sandor's dark look grew into murderous rage.

"My lady." The Knight of Flowers bowed and took his leave.

There was a moment when neither of them did or said anything, a long moment in which Qerhan struggled to form words. Sandor, on the other hand, seemed to be waiting for her to speak first.

"I thought you were going to die back there." She blurted at last. By the gods it sounded so weak, and she hated herself for it, but Sandor only closed his eyes and let the words wash over him.

"I know." He replied. "So did I, when his sword came for my neck like that. I heard… And then I saw you… I thought you screaming would be the last thing I ever heard."

His long legs swallowed the distance between them, and he bent over her, gathering her tightly to himself. Qerhan pressed her face into his neck, breathing him in. At length, he spoke again: "You understand why I did it?"

"Of course I do."

"And you understand, even if I had… Even if things had gone wrong, I wouldn't have regretted it?"

"I know." She answered thickly, tears pricking at her eyes. "I'm just glad you're alright."

"Me too, for a change."

She frowned up at him. Releasing her, he tugged at her hand.

"Come, I have a surprise for you."

She made a face. "Not another -"

"Quit whinging and come on!".


	23. To the River

"You know." Qerhan teased. "If you wanted another roll in the hay you could just ask."

"Very funny."

"I wasn't trying to be funny."

Sandor's horse perked up his ears and whinnied as they approached, only to give them an indignant snort when they passed him without stopping.

"He didn't like that."

"He'll get over it."

Just a few stalls down, Ser Loras' beautiful mare watched them, brown eyes full of curiosity. She sniffed at Sandor when he stopped, allowing him to stroke her nose. Qerhan rubbed her neck.

"This is Loras' horse."

"No shit." He said. "And that's yours, there."

He nodded to the next stall, where another mare eyed them with interest.

"She's this one's dam." He went on. "Only about nine or ten, mind you. Loras said he used to ride her before she got too old for tourneys."

"Too old?" Qerhan echoed, wandering over to her. She was taller and slightly stockier than her offspring. Her coat was fleabitten where the other was a smooth, nearing white, grey. Her mane was dark while the younger mare's was cream. She might have been older but she was just as sharp and inquisitive, nosing Qerhan gently as she sniffed her. When Qerhan reached up to scratch her ears, the horse bowed and chuffed happily. "She's gorgeous."

"I thought you'd like her."

"But Sandor -"

"Don't." He said. "Don't ask."

"How much did she  _cost_ , Sandor?"

"More than you need to know."

"What were you  _thinking_?"

"Like I said: I thought you'd like her."

"How can you just…" She tried to calm herself, she really did. The mare nudged her, demanding more rubs. "You just  _threw_  all of your money away on this!?"

"I didn't." He responded firmly. "I won, remember? I've got the champion's purse."

"How much did you -"

"Forty thousand."

Her jaw dropped. She couldn't even imagine what forty thousand dragons looked like.

"Do you like her?"

To the horse's ire, Qerhan turned to Sandor and threw her arms around him. She kissed him until one of the stable boys rounded the corner and got the fright of his life. Sandor veritably  _growled_  at him and the poor child backed away, apologizing profusely. Qerhan cuddled close to his chest before giggling.

"Sandor?"

"What?"

"Is she chewing my hair?"

He shooed the mare away before inspecting the damaged strand. "No one will notice."

Qerhan elbowed him before ducking into the stall. This time she put her arms around the creature's neck, rubbing her withers.

"Does she have a name?"

"...Loras called her 'Rhaenys'."

Qerhan's head whipped round, expression full of distaste. "After the Targaryen princess?"

"The one my brother butchered."

"Ugh, that won't do at all."

"It's bad luck to change a horse's name." He jeered.

"Piss on that, I'm  _not_ calling her Rhaenys!" Qerhan turned, observing the pinprick spots of grey all through her hair, the long grey fall of her mane and tail. "Rain. I'll call her Rain."

"Better." He agreed. "Can you ride?"

She nodded. "I'm out of practice, but I used to love to ride."

"I'll fetch one of the boys."

As well as the horse, Sandor had made sure to buy her a shirt, cloak, boots, and a pair of soft brown breeches that made her arse look 'too good to let go of'. She had to push him away from her as he tried to squeezed and slap it every time he got near. She packed her good dress into a saddlebag and hung it on her new mare.

He came up behind her at once, and before she could defend herself lifted her right up and sat her on the saddle. Rain, to her credit, hardly even glanced over. Sandor carefully adjusted her girth and stirrups prior to mounting himself. Duncan, his old stallion, sniffed at Rain and she stamped her foot.

"I don't think she's interested." Sandor remarked, patting him on the shoulder. Then to Qerhan: "Ready?"

She gathered her reins. "Let's go."

He led her out of the grounds, taking it slow and doing his best to keep his horse astride hers, despite Duncan's obvious desire to take the lead. Qerhan found Rain to be smooth, docile, but a tad flighty at times, which Sandor said they would have to keep an eye on. Once they got out into the fields separating the grounds from the rest of the city, both of their steeds began to snort and skip, eager to be off.

"Race you to the river?" She suggested.

"Hmph, that old mare hasn't a chance." He replied, pulling hard on Duncan's reins and drawing him in a circle to calm him down.

"Tell you what, if you win, you don't have to buy me that dress."

He scowled at her, "I bought you a shagging horse and you're still after that  _dress?"_

"I  _liked_ that dress."

" _Fine_."

"What if I win?"

"I'll buy you the fucking dress!"

"You owe me that already."

"I'll buy you a fucking diamond, now come on!" Without warning, he spurred his horse on, and Duncan shot away like a bullet. Qerhan swore and let Rain go. To her relief, the mare broke into a gallop more steadily, building up speed until she was on the stallion's heels. Duncan kicked out at her once and Qerhan shouted obscenities at Sandor, who only laughed.

"He's trained to do it! What did you expect!"

There was a fork in the road up ahead, one path leading out onto farmland, the other leading toward the river and the city. Sandor, feeling cocky, turned to sneer at her at the wrong moment, and Duncan swerved onto the left path. Sandor's furious roar shook the trees, and Qerhan booted Rain on. She knew he would be close behind her, but there was no winning, now. His lapse had secured her victory. She checked her horse at the edge of the water and slowed her into a trot as Sandor burst out of the trees, face red with rage. He pulled up before he even got to the river, glaring.

Rain halted and Qerhan hopped down. "So, about my diamond -"

"Shut the fuck up!" He barked. Dismounting, the grabbed both Duncan and Rain, and started for the bridge.

Qerhan hurried after him, quietly soaking in her glory. It was not until they were at the center of the bridge that he stopped. She sat up on the wall, looking down at the water while he loosened the horses' girths. He left them free as he came up to her. In the evening light, the Trident, the fields and the city walls were bathed in a warm glow. For a moment King's Landing looked almost pretty.

Qerhan sighed softly and looked to Sandor. "Are you done moping?"

His eyes looked yellow now. "Piss off."

"But my diamond -"

"You're not getting a fucking diamond!"

She laughed. "You know I don't really want one."

"I know." He sidled up to her, placing his hands at her waist.

Qerhan pushed his hair out of his face. "This has to be the last present, Sandor."

He blinked down at her. "Why?"

"Because I've no way to repay you for all of…" She nodded at Rain, who was now grooming Duncan. "This."

"You don't need to repay me." He said, kissing her. "I don't want you to."

In the quiet dusk, they stayed there for a long time, indulging in kisses until they were both breathless, and were content to just hold each other there. Until Sandor looked up.

"Shit."

"What?"

" _Starks."_

The Hand was walking up the river towards the bridge, his two daughters in tow. There was no question that they had seen them, up where they were. Qerhan slipped down off the wall and they both went down to retrieve their horses from the riverside.

"Good evening." Lord Stark's voice rang through the silence.

"Evening." Sandor responded gruffly, adjusting Duncan's reins around his neck.

Stark glanced from him to Qerhan, who eyed him stonily. "My lady, I don't believe we have been acquainted. My name is Eddard Stark. These are my daughters; Sansa and Arya."

To her relief, no one bowed. "I'm Qerhan."

The moment dragged on, and she willed them to leave. Lord Stark seemed to be waiting for Sandor to say something. When he did not, the Hand attempted conversation again: "Forgive me, Lord Clegane, but I never knew you were married."

If Qerhan could have preserved the image of Sandor's face at that very moment, she would have. As it was, all she could do was howl with laughter, burying her face in her horse's mane to dampen the noise.

"I'm not...she… We're not…" Sandor spluttered.

"Lord Baelish insinuated that you were."

"Lord Baelish can go fuck himself!"

At that, Sandor yanked on Duncan's reins, hauling him off across the bridge without so much as a 'goodbye'. Qerhan just about managed to mumble "Nice meeting you." Before hurrying after him.

"Sit down, I have a surprise for  _you_ this time."

"That's disconcerting."

"Shut up, or you'll get nothing."

He sat in his chair, Dakra lying calmly at his feet. The dog had come on leaps and bounds since he'd come home. Sandor insisted on training him every morning and sometimes well into the evening. He had more or less succeeded in curing his obsession with food, and now the animal lay or sat with them while they ate or drank rather than being put out in the hall.

Dakra barely opened his eyes when he heard Qerhan rummaging around in the wardrobe, and certainly was not interested in the bottle she pulled out. Sandor narrowed his eyes at it.

"The drink of my people." She declared, setting it down on the table.

When she reached for his cup, he snatched it away. "What's in that?"

"Potatoes mostly. Some herbs and spices along with some...um."

"Some  _what?"_

"It comes from a flower…" She attempted. "Like milk of the poppy…"

" _Laudanum?_ " Sandor spat. "You expect me to drink fucking  _laudanum?"_

She shrugged. "Just a snifter?"

"Qerhan, tell me: did you drink this when you were younger?"

"Well, only in winter." She answered. "My father was very strict about that. Mostly because he wanted it for himself-"

"This explains  _so much."_

She made to slap him, but he blocked her, and Dakra sat up growling. Putting on her sweetest smile, which he knew by now not to trust, she slipped into his lap. This time, she picked up her cup instead of his and pulled the stopper out of the bottle.

"I'm not drinking that."

"Well  _I_ am."

"Suit yourself."

She poured the liquid into her silver cup. Just a snifter, as she had promised. Sandor watched as she made to raise it to her lips, and jerked away when she offered it to him.

"Not in seven hells!"

"It's good!"

"It's  _black_!"

"It matches your hair, come on!"

He burst into raucous laughter. "It matches my hair. Well in that case, fair sorceress, pour the fucking poison down my throat!"

"It's not poison!"

"Then tell me; what exactly is that shit going to do to me?"

She mused for a moment. "As far as I remember it just makes you feel warm...and happy."

Before he could stop her, she knocked it back, shuddering as the heat of the liquor surged through her, burning pleasantly at her throat. When she lowered the glass, he was looking at her like he expected her to drop dead any second. She poured another.

"Now you."


	24. Many Conversations

****

Despite his initial misgivings, Sandor had gradually taken to the  _postrún_. Qerhan pulled out the bottle only once or twice a month, and he eventually threw it back without complaining. At first the burning sensation had near made him vomit, but he now knew to chase it with water. The drink made them both warm and giddy. It also loosened their tongues. At times when they were too tired to ride or fuck, they would take it and just lie on the bed, talking into the night.

This particular night, they were both staring blankly up at the canopy when Sandor spoke, voice honeyed by the alcohol and opiates: "Eddard Stark is a good man."

Qerhan rolled to face him. "I think that's the nicest thing I've ever heard you say about anyone."

"I'm nice to you."

"You have to be. You love me."

"Hmm." He agreed. "Stark's also a fucking moron. Him and his whole house."

"You managed to be nice for a whole minute." She mocked. "I'm so proud."

"Fuck off." He mumbled, grinning. "And you know  _exactly_ what I'm talking about."

"I do." She conceded. "He's too good. Too moral. Cares too much about the truth."

"...didn't I say something like that?"

"Maybe. Though I'm sure I worded it better."

He managed to maneuver himself onto his side.

"He's going to die. Him and his daughters, if he's not careful."

"Why? What did he do?"

"He's getting too close."

"To what?"

"The king, the queen, and their children. Everyone here. You know he asked me about Gregor?"

"What did he ask?"

"Something about…" He licked his lips, frowned. "Fuck it, I can't remember."

Qerhan laughed, and he followed suit, reaching out to touch her hand.

"Why is it bad," She asked. "If Stark gets close to the king and queen?"

Sandor, who was absently playing with her fingers, gently opening and closing them with a look of utmost concentration, answered: "Because he might uncover the truth."

"The truth?"

His head snapped up. "Shit. Qerhan, forget I said that."

"But what's the truth?"

He covered her closed fist with his own. "Just...leave it."

"I won't tell anyone." She pressed. "You know I won't."

Hesitantly, he leaned over, and whispered it in her ear, kissing the shell when he was done. As he rested his head on his elbow, Qerhan's expression went through a dozen transformations. Finally, she recalled: "'  _She's rather pretty, even by my standards_.'"

Sandor buried his face into the coverlet, choking on his own laughter. This time Qerhan followed his lead, hugging him as they both descended into hysterics. Recovery involved a lot of eye-wiping and  _shush_ ing.

The words had long played at her lips, now she let them out: "What the  _fuck_ is wrong with these people?"

Sandor chuckled. "You don't know the half of it."

He rolled off her, both of them gasping for air through their contented haze. Qerhan giggled softly, using his discarded shirt to wipe his seed from her face. He swore when she threw it at him.

"It's yours."

"I gave it to you."

Stretching over his chest, she toyed with the coarse black hair beneath her fingers, licking the sweat from his breast and laying her ear against his thundering heart. Sandor's fingers circled her teats and stomach, tickling as his other hand combed through her hair.

"Tell me about the children." She said abruptly.

He raised his head wearily. "I don't have any."

She pinched his nipple. He pinched right back. "Yes you do - the Baratheons."

"I'm their sworn shield, not their keeper."

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Don't tell me that's all. You've known them since...when?"

"Before Joffrey was even born."

"And did you know... _about them_?"

"Jaime told me shortly before. Him and Cersei - they begged me to protect them. They knew I would. Little runts."

"Is Myrcella a runt?"

He grumbled: "...no."

Qerhan traced the line of his jaw. "You love her."

Silver eyes pinned her. "Shut up."

"I saw you, the way you looked at her, spoke to her,  _doted_  on her. I've seen you at dinner and breakfast and out in the gardens."

"Spying on me?"

"Yes." She admitted. "You're sweet with her."

"I am not  _sweet._ "

She kissed him. "Yes you are. She gave you flowers and you put them in your pocket."

" _Piss off_."

She stared him down. "Why can't you just admit you care about her? About her brothers?"

He looked away.

Qerhan continued: "Are you afraid they'll get taken away?"

"Qerhan,  _enough_."

Defeated, she sighed and turned to look once more at the burgundy canopy. Sandor splayed her hair over his torso and onto the sheet.

"You're right."

"I know I am."

"Can you  _not_ be a bitch?"

"Only if you promise not to be a cunt."

"I worry about the Stark girls, too."

"I know." She replied. "I can't blame you. Not with the company you keep."

"Killers and thieves and rapers." He spat. "Not what the stories tell you."

Sandor had dozed off, but she lay awake, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. His mouth was open, a soft snoring escaping his nose as his eyes shifted under their lids. She gently removed his arm from under her, placing it across his stomach and rubbing the blood back into it.

He snorted like a boar, waking himself, and she burst out laughing.

" _What_?" Came the rough bark.

"Here I was thinking about how peaceful you look when you sleep."

He thrust his reanimated arm back under her and squeezed her to him. "Have you slept at all?"

"Not really."

"Out with it."

"What?"

"I won't fucking know til you tell me." He said, resting his chin on her head.

"It's stupid."

"It's stupid, I'm sure. But you won't shagging sleep. So go on."

When she failed to reply, he pinched her side. She jabbed him in the ribs in response. Taking a deep breath, she asked the question burning in her mind: "If I were a lady, would you marry me?"

He sighed heavily. "My parents would want me to, yes."

"What does that mean?"

Silence.

"Don't you want -"

"No."

"...oh."

Her chest tightened, and she shut up.

"Qerhan?"

"Hm?"

"Go to the wardrobe. There's a box under my breeches."

She went. It was a narrow, wooden box with no lock and small hinges. She brought it back to him, finding him sitting up now.

"Open it."

Inside was a single round opal on a slender silver string. Her brow furrowed.

"I bought it the day after the tourney. I know you said no more presents but…"

"But that was months ago."

"I meant to give it to you." He explained. "I meant to ask you...but I can't. Not now."

She waited.

"If we were wed, Gregor might find out." Sandor went on. "Then you and any…"

"...any children." She offered.

"Aye. You'd be in danger. Especially  _them_."

"You could have killed him. At the tourney. I saw. You could have -"

"Then it would have been murder, and they'd have taken my head. I'm not a knight, Qerhan, I can't get away with something like that."

"Right." She sat on the edge of the bed and closed the box before handing it to him.

He pushed it away. "It's yours."

"But we can't -"

"No, we can't. And I can't let you wear it, not even when he's not here. This place is full of snakes. But you know that."

"I know. I understand." She confirmed.

"Then put it in your trunk, and lock it up tight." He instructed. "After I kill Gregor, we'll talk about it again."


	25. Shameless

The day Eddard Stark stood trial, Sandor demanded that she not go. Near begged her not to. But everyone to the kitchens insisted, so she ended up being dragged to a beheading she had no interest in.

Qerhan had seen her share of executions. In the north, beheading was common. But after coming south she had witnessed hangings, burnings, and even one poor cunt who had been dragged apart by horses. There was no ritual to killing down here, and it seemed alien to her that an honorable man such as Lord Stark could be put to the sword so coldly.

It was cruel, and the suddenness of it far crueller. It was plain on his daughter's face that she had not been told what would happen should her father be deemed guilty. No warning. No goodbye. No sympathy.

_And what of the little one?_

When Ser Ilyn held the condemned man's head up for the crowds to jeer and spit at, she turned away, and picked her way back to the kitchen alone. There she pottered about awhile, trying to clear up some of that morning's mess, but her mind was wandering in the realms of the dead. She would be useless today, so she returned to their room.

Dakra tried to jump on her. She pushed him down,  _tutting_ firmly. The dog worked a semi circle in the floor around her as she washed in the basin. When she turned, he picked up his patchwork hare and shook it playfully. Taking in the walls looming around her, she snapped her fingers at him.

"Come."

The gardens were blessedly empty. Qerhan wondered if Joffrey had announced a banquet to celebrate the execution of the Stark men. The gods knew there had been one following his 'father's' death. She threw the little stuffed hare at least ten dozen times before she and Dakra both tired, then sat on one of the stone benches well past nightfall. Until the half-grown hound put his head in her lap, brown eyes blinking sleepily up at her.

She bent down as the petted him to whisper: "I hate this place. I hate these walls. I hate these people who find pleasure in torment. Yet Sandor is one of them, and somehow I love him **."**

Dakra huffed in response.

"Alright. Let's get you to bed."

Sandor was there when they returned, guarding the door with his steely expression.

"Leave him outside a moment."

She closed the door, on Dakra, who dropped his hare in his woe.

"You came, today. I saw you."

"I did."

"Tell me."

She stalked over to the table and poured her own wine. Watched it swish around in her cup as she thought.

"In the north, when someone is committed to die, we give them one last drink. If there's time and if they are worthy, they'll be given food and a shag. At the very least, their families are allowed to say goodbye."

"Yet we granted Eddard Stark none of that."

"There was no dignity about what happened today."

He scoffed. "There's no bloody dignity in execution."

"Not among your people."

" _My people_."

"I'll never be one of them, Sandor. I'll never be able to see something like what happened today and pretend like it was justified."

"Nor will I. But it was the king's will."

"...what happened to the younger girl?"

"She got away."

"Let's hope they never find her."

He took the cup from her hands and set it on the table, hand resting at the small of her back. His lips pressed against the soft spot just under her ear, fingers working the laces of her dress. Slightly confused, Qerhan turned, only for his mouth to greedily enclose hers. He kissed her hard, bruising her lips with the force of his attentions. Heat pooled in her core, and she clutched at him. It seemed so wrong, considering what they had been discussing, yet when he pushed her back, cups and an empty silver dish clattering to the floor, she could not deny it.

In hurried, awkward movements, they half-disrobed her. He squeezed her breasts almost painfully, face buried into her neck. Qerhan pulled her skirts up to her waist, untying his breeches without a word. He pushed against her, unprepared as she was, and she stiffened. No matter, another push and he was stretching her. He kissed her in apology, and she whispered words of encouragement. It did not hurt, far from it, and reaching between them, she managed to find her end, and he came into her mouth. It was all over too fast for either of them to feel much pleasure, but there was something calming about it.

He readjusted her dress, and smoothed her hair, lifting her into his lap as he sat. The cups had rolled across the floor, but of course they had saved the flagon. Sandor lifted the spout directly to his mouth, then offered it to Qerhan, who tilted her head back to drink. A certain amount of shame surrounded them in that moment, and neither of them spoke for a long while.

"My uncle was beheaded." Qerhan said at last. Sandor's arm tightened around her, and he pressed a kiss to her shoulder. "Poor Lachran. He lost his mind before he was even forty. Started to see things that weren't there. One evening, his friend Hronan came to check on him, but Lachran didn't recognize him. We don't know what he saw, but as his friend bend down to greet him, he stabbed him in the neck."

"Who killed him?"

"Our chieftain at the time. Can't recall the name. Morli or Mearra I think." She replied. "My father had vouched for his brother for so many years. Even Lachran's wife - she left with the children before it got too bad - even she insisted he was no threat to anyone."

"Fucking missed the mark on that one."

"Aye." Qerhan agreed. "Anyway of course Lachran's daughter Tveris was there, and she saw my mother's nephew, Darra, and just dragged him into one of the tents…"

"I see." He said glumly.

"And her mother just laughed. Said the life escaping needed to go somewhere."

"You're saying I just took you over a table because Eddard fucking Stark wanted me to?"

"Not in so many words. It's just what people say -"

"Fucking spare me." He rasped. "I had to listen to enough shit about souls and afterlives when the septon arrived today. Don't you start."

"Right." Qerhan spat back, standing up. "You just sit here and contemplate how hard your life is, with your wine in your hand, and silver on the floor, because you had to watch  _someone_   _else_ get dragged through the dirt and lose his head."

She threw her gown over the bed frame and crawled under the covers. She was not in the mood for his snark right now. Let him sit there and drink alone if he wanted to. Let him rage at the septons and the maesters and even the poor fucking Starks rather than the real problem. She did not want to hear it.

It was not long before he eased onto the mattress behind her, and draped an arm over her, pressing his forehead into the back of her neck.

"Qerhan." He said. "I'm sorry. That wasn't fair on you, what I said."

"Sandor?"

"Hm?"

"I hate this place."

"Aye, love, me too."


	26. A Moment's Peace

Suzana set Tobias down next to Dakra and went to fetch a broom. The child was over one year old now, and stood up to march about with a toddler's determination as the dog followed him vigilantly. Qerhan gently ushered him away from the pantry door, where he knew Shanda kept the raisin bread and lemon cakes. His mother returned with a broom and a small wooden horse for him.

"Has me run ragged." She sighed, watching as her son ran the horse along the windowsill. "He was up half the night, running around the room. Margaret ended up taking him for a while just so I could get some sleep."

"This is no place for a child." Rowan remarked, watching as Dakra tried to show the boy his hare.

Suzana began to sweep hard enough to brush the top layer off the flagstones. "I know. You said so plenty of times before, when I was carrying him."

"I'm sorry." Rowan shook herself. "I wasn't just talking about him. I meant…"

_Myrcella, Tommen, even Joffrey._

"...all of them."

Suzana frowned. "Are you alright?"

"Fine."

Her mind turned to Sandor, and what he had said about their children.

Her friend went back to sweeping.

"If it happened to you, what would the Hound do?"

"Probably lock me in a tower." Rowan half-joked. "Hide me away from the world."

"Why?"

"He's afraid. Of the Mountain."

"Oh." Suzana wiped her brow. "You don't think he'd leave you?"

She thought a moment. "No. He wouldn't. Not willingly."

"I said the same about….you know I forgot his name?"

"Malachi."

Suzana grimaced. "Ah. There it is."

"Sandor's not Malachi."

The girl looked at her a long while before conceding: "No, he's not."

A footfall interrupted them. Margaret appeared round the corner carrying a tray.

"Rowan. For the Stark girl."

She found young Sansa sitting at the writing desk in her room. The girl had several scrunched up balls of parchment strewn around her. Her long auburn hair, neatly arranged by one of the maids that morning, was in disarray, and she wore naught but her nightgown.

Hearing Qerhan set the tray down, the girl turned. There were deep purple bruises on her cheek, and she appeared to be clutching at her ribs. Qerhan had meant to drop the food and leave, but instead found herself on her knees in front of the child.

"My lady, what -"

"My brother has declared himself King in the North." Sansa said monotonously. "Joffrey didn't like that."

"So he did  _this?_ "

"Not him. His guards."

Qerhan's stomach dropped. "He let his guards beat you?"

The girl nodded. "Not all of them. The Hound refused to…"

_The Hound_.

"He told them to stop, but Joffrey had not had enough. They tore my dress. The Hound gave me his cloak. Lord Tyrion stopped it, finally."

"Let me see, my lady." Qerhan reached out, but the girl slapped her away.

"No!" She yelped. "No that will not be necessary."

She bowed her head like a good maid.

"I remember you, you know." Sansa said. "Lord Baelish, and afterwards Joffrey, they called you 'The Hound's Bitch'."

Qerhan made no response.

"I didn't believe them at first, thought they were mocking me, or you." The child continued. "Then I saw you with him, on the bridge. And Arya saw you later, on the servants stair. She heard the things you say to each other, when you think you're alone."

"And?" Qerhan eventually responded.

"Do you  _really_  think he means it?"

"I know he does."

Sansa sneered. "A man like him. All he really loves is killing. He told me that himself -  _killing is the sweetest thing there is._ "

Qerhan chuckled. That sounded like Sandor, all right.

"What's so funny."

"You heard him say that." The wildling said. "And you believed him. Joffrey probably told you he loved you, and you believed him. You sit there casting judgment on me when you still don't understand anything."

Sansa's little mouth snapped shut. As Qerhan made for the door, she thought she heard that sweet voice float across the room:

" _Bitch."_

Sandor was adjusting his armor on its stand when she walked in. Wordlessly, Qerhan wrapped her arms around his midsection, inhaling him deeply.

His coarse laugh near shook her off. "What's this?"

"You're a good one. You know that?"

He fell silent.

"I wish I hadn't met you here." She told him. "North of the Wall, in the Riverlands, Highgarden, Dorne, Braavos. Anywhere would have been better than here."

"You heard about what happened at court?"

"The Stark girl told me all about it."

"Did she, now?"

"Aye. And I'm proud of you."

In his chest, she heard his heart leap. Something he could not control. Something which did not lie.

"Sit with me." He said, bringing her to the table, which was already set for them. She sat on his lap, as she was wont to do, her assigned chair standing vacant. Dakra sniffed at them until Sandor dismissed him.

He urged Qerhan to eat while he opened a large tome set on the table.

"Did you know." He said. "That I'm related to Duncan the Tall."

Qerhan nonchalantly shoved a forkful of potatoes into her mouth. "Who's that?"

Sandor took a moment to realize there was no jest in her words. "He...he was a pauper who became a knight. They say he was over eight feet in height -"

"His mother fucked a giant?"

"What? No! Well… Maybe. We don't know who his parents were."

"Explains a lot."

"What does?"

"Giant's blood." She observed. "You're what, six-eight? And your brother is a beast -"

"Would you shut up and let me tell the story?"

"Is that what that book is?"

"Are you fucking blind?"

"No."

"What does it bleeding say right here?"

"How am I supposed to know!"

Sandor blinked up at her. "...you can't read?"

"Not really."

"What do you mean, 'not really'?"

"I mean, I can read some of the things Shanda or Margaret write on their lists. Not all. That's why Suzana usually goes with me to market. I know the sounds the letters make, but not properly."

"Look here. What's this word?"

"D-u...must be 'Duncan'."

"Right. This?"

"Swuh-"

"No. Don't say this one."

"Why's it fucking there if you don't say it?"

"Because…" He scowled down at the book. "Because it shagging is. Now what's the word?"

"Suh-oh-rrr-duh."

Sandor made a jabbing motion.

"Sword!"

"Here, you point and I'll read."

Sandor was not a very good teacher. He meant well, but simply had not the patience for it, meaning the two of them could only survive brief sessions together. Still, he continued reading to her, sometimes at the table, with her in his lap, other times in bed, with her nestled against him. On the few evenings when he was elsewhere, Qerhan would pick up Duncan's story and try by herself.

After a few weeks, she could more or less read the first chapter by herself, and Sandor was visibly impressed. She even managed the first two pages of the second without stopping.

"You're a quick study, for a Wildling." He remarked.

"And you're an oaf." She retorted, distractedly. "Why are there so many letters with no sound. And why does one letter change another, even if they're not touching?"

"I didn't make the writing." He grumbled for the billionth time. "I just read it."

"Can you write it?"

"Not well, but…" He went to his drawers and extracted a dusty quill, ink, and some wrinkled old parchment. "I'll show you."

Qerhan watched as he slowly formed the letters on the page, letting her observe the way he moved his pen. He wrote "Sandor Clegane" five times in long, thin letters, before handing the quill to her.

"Try."

She pressed the quill to the paper, trying to make the S, but only a few drops of ink came,and the nib scratched the parchment.

"Press it a little more. No, from this angle. Wait…" He looked from the pen to her. "Aren't you left-handed?"

"What do you mean?"

"I've seen you eat, and cut, and polish my armor. You always use your left hand."

"So?"

"Writing's the same."

"But you put it in my right hand."

"I forgot. You're not supposed to, you dumb cunt."

She switched hands, then laughed. "That's easier."

He kissed her cheek. "Better, but don't hold the pen down for too long. You're getting ink all over your fingers. No, don't put it on me!"

He glared up at her, two thick lines of black ink streaking down the good side of his face. Grinning, Qerhan dipped her fingers in the ink and drew on herself: three streaks down one cheek, and a semi circle around the other eye.

"Fucking Wildling."


	27. Split in Two

She was reading in the kitchen on the day of the riot. Margery sat next to her, helping her through a difficult paragraph. She was almost halfway through Duncan's book, and had begun to copy passages from him. Sandor had commented that her writing now looked better than his.

"Shanda! Margery!" Suzana burst through the door, little Tobias crying in her arms. "Rowan, you too! Come quick! The city's aflame!"

They took after her, Dakra charging on ahead as Margery led them to the outer wall. Dozens of servants and guards alike were already up on the battlements. Looking up they could see the black smoke crawling across the sky.

From their vantage point, it seemed as though the world was burning. All across the lower quarters, fire lapped at the squat, ramshackle buildings the peasants had built for homes. Screams rang through the evening, painting the clouds red.

_Sandor_. He was down there, she knew. He had complained loudly this morning about having to escort the king to the harbor, but really she knew he was loath to see little Myrcella leave. He could be trapped, down in that chaos.

She felt sick to her stomach, watching the flames engulf lane after lane. Where was he? Would he come back to her? Was he already dead?

The world began to churn, and she wobbled on her feet, struggling for breath. Turning much too quickly, she stumbled down the stairs and braced herself against the wall. A single heave, and she spewed the contents of her stomach onto the stones. Arms grabbed her. Suzana, and she was hauled indoors. Again her stomach lurched, and she retched, falling to the floor. But she was empty, and only spat out clear, viscous bile.

"Sandor…" She gasped.

"He's fine. Rowan. Believe me, he's fine."

Suzana, with whatever strength she held in those sinewy arms, helped her up, and dragged her to her rooms. At one point things turned black, and she blinked to find her friend tucking her into bed.

Silence filled the castle with its merciless din. In the darkness, she heard booted feet scraping across the floor. A hand pressed her shoulder, and she jolted awake.

"Sandor?"

He smiled down at her. There was blood on his shirt, but not his own. He was covered in dirt and soot. Despite his smile, he looked miserable. "It's me."

She sat up, squeezing him tight, kissing his face in a frenzy of confused emotions. "I saw the fire. I heard the screams. I thought… I thought…."

"I know… I'm alright. But Duncan is lost."

Qerhan stopped, at once seeing the tears in his eyes. "Oh. Sandor. I'm so sorry."

"No matter." He spat, pursing his lips as a drop slid down his cheek. "The king bought me another horse."

Qerhan only stroked his face.

"The whole city's gone mad." He told her. "Savage. Qerhan… Qerhan. Get up. I've put some clothes out for you."

He had put out out her riding clothes. She pulled them on without question, then turned to him, looking up expectantly.

"Where are we going?"

His face fell. The tears that shimmered in the corners of those silver eyes fell like raindrops. "Qerhan…"

He did not need to say it. She knew. Somehow, she had known when he was sitting beside her. But knowing did not eliminate the pain. Her heart twisted in her chest. Her breath stopped. From her lips escaped an agonized "No."

"You're going." He said thickly. "I'm not."

She fought to find her breath, black spots flickering across her vision. "... _No!"_

"Qerhan, please."

"I'm not leaving you!" She screamed. " _No!"_

"You have to!" He choked. He reached for her and she reeled away from his outstretched hand. "Qerhan,  _please!"_

"Come with me! Don't send me alone! Sandor, please -" She pleaded. Gods, this hurt. In her chest, her heart spluttered, threatening to stop. She wheezed before him, broken and pathetic.

"You're not going alone. I spoke to Suzana. You'll take her, and the boy, and Dakra. And  _go_."

He grasped her by the shoulders, meaning to haul her out. Qerhan dropped to her knees, clawing at his hands. He sobbed, bending double over her.

"Sandor," she begged. "Sandor,  _please._ Come with me! I can't do this without you, I -"

"You think I want this!?" He bellowed, voice shaking the stones. Then seeing her recoil, he stroked her hair. "You think I would choose anything other than to have you here, or to go with you? But we can't have that, any of it!" His lips formed a thousand words, none of which he spoke aloud. "Stannis is coming from the east, and the slums are burning below us. This is the only way I know to protect you!"

Sandor tried to pull her up. Growling, Qerhan slapped and punched at him, even when he lifted her bodily out the door. He staggered out with her across his shoulders, ignoring her blows, body wracked with tears. Ears full of curses.

"You bastard! You fucking shit! You absolute son of a bitch! How dare you leave me! How dare -"

"You stupid cunt!" He dropped her as she kicked at him. In the darkened stair, a single lamp illuminated the twisted, puckered flesh another fire had once consumed. He loomed over her, tears washing away the soot from his cheeks, hands open and pleading. "Don't you see that this is all for you? Ever since i've met you, everything i've done has been for you. To make you want me. To make you happy. To make you stay! You're all I've ever wanted. But right now I love you far too much to keep you. Qerhan, try to understand - I'm not abandoning you; I'm saving you."

"I don't want to be saved." She quavered, unable to stand, she wallowed in the damp darkness before him, the wall cold at her back. "If it means living without you."

Shaking his head, refusing to hear, he caught her by the wrist, then by the waist, and pulled her up to him, balancing her as they stood forehead to forehead, locking eyes. Everything that was, is, could have been, and might still be passed between them, and she fell silent. "This isn't the last of it. I will find you, I promise. Go north, to Winterfell. I'll take the Stark girl and bring her there. Or go east. To Braavos. To your brother. I'll find you there, too. I won't stop until I've found you."

Qerhan wiped at he tears streaming down her face. "Promise me." She thumped on his breast with all her might. "Sandor, promise me."

He bit his lip, letting her dab at his eyes. The twisted side of his lip quivered as he tried to form words. "I should have married you while I had the chance."

Qerhan buried her head in his chest, unable to speak. Sandor's arms held her fast, trapping her. The blackness devoured their hopeless vows, their heartbroken affirmations, and their dreams.

Thus it was, that in the dead of night, the Hound's Bitch departed, taking her friend with her. Long afterwards, rumors would circulate the Red Keep, claiming that the younger Clegane, having grown bored of her, killed his lady. The few that knew the truth of the matter, being sworn to secrecy, only bowed their heads at the sound of poisonous whispers, and whispered prayers of safekeeping to both the Old Gods and the New.


	28. The Hunt is All

_WINTERFELL: 301 AC_

Winter had come. All about the castle, it painted the landscape white. In the distance, the road was an icy black gash pushing the banks of snow and ice apart. The castle was the last bastion of life in this wasteland, with its broken towers and walls dark from the burning just a few years before.

She stood on the battlements, bearskin mantle wrapped tightly about her shoulders, and raised a skin of  _postrún_ to her lips, quickly readjusting her scarf over her nose as the air bit her skin. At her side, Shoni elbowed her, taking the skin from her hands and drawing a long mouthful. He sighed as he alcohol heated his innards and pulled his hood more firmly over his head. They both wore their helms; hers, a young white bear; his, a monstrous black dire wolf. The Stark men eyed the latter uneasily, viewing it as an ill omen. Shoni found their southern superstitions amusing, and loudly bragged about how he had skewered the beast with his spear as often as possible - at least until Tormund had clocked him round the head and threatened to wear  _his_  skull as a hat.

"Tis cold."

"No shit."

"Remind me why we're standing up here again?"

"Just to look."

"We've looked, sister. There's no one coming."

He was right. The road was empty. The lands completely still. For months since they came here, she had stood up on these walls at midday, gazing south. Shoni stood with her most days, Aosidh occasionally. On the worst days she told them to leave her alone, and whispered into the North Wind.

The southerners told her he was dead. The younger Stark girl told her she had left him to die in the Saltpans. The elder just stared at her with those sorrowful eyes. The boy hardly looked at her. And the bastard king pitied her. She glared right back at all of them. He had promised her. She knew he would come.

"Qerhan, I'm in no mood to freeze to death up here." Shoni grumbled. "Let's go."

"Right."

The castle grounds had gradually evolved into a refugee camp, packed full of free folk, peasants, and southern itinerants. Qerhan and Shoni picked their way through the flimsy shelters to their tent, where she bedded down between his family and Aosidh's. It was cramped, but at least it was warm, with them all huddled together.

Wysu, Shoni's southern wife, sat by the fire nursing their youngest and chatting with Aosidh. Her sister's two boys, Friegert and Sigmund wrestled on the floor behind them.

"Nothing?" Wysu asked sympathetically.

Qerhan shook her head, accepting the bread her sister offered her. She and Shoni sat opposite the two. Behind their mother, Sigmund's fist connected with his brother's jaw, and Friegert determined the fight to be over, shoving him off.

"Where's Polfrud?" Shoni asked, glancing around for his brother-in-law.

"He took Lynn to see the horses." Wysu, replied, burping little Byron. "She wouldn't sit still all day."

"Oh dear."

"The sooner this winter's over, the better."

"Aye," Aosidh agreed. "Before we start throttling each other."

Qerhan went to where she had left her bow propped against the wall. She had hardly picked it up before the boys were on either side of her.

"Where you going?"

"Are you going hunting?"

"I made new arrows yesterday!"

"My spear's over here!"

"We're coming, right?"

"Right?"

"Sigmund, for the umpteenth time, stay where I can see you!"

The boy had skidded down a snow drift, out of sight. She could hear him giggling on the other side. He appeared round the bole of a dead tree a few yards away.

"Mammy said the walkers'll get you if you keep doing that!" Friegert called after his younger brother. At twelve years old, he had a level head, and quickly grew tired of his sibling's antics.

Sigmund stopped, stiffened, and assumed the slow shamble of the death, letting out a low, rattling noise as he edged his way back to them. Qerhan pushed him and he stuck his spear into the snow to save himself falling face first.

"Walkers move faster than that." She remarked. "Far faster than you could imagine."

The ten year old liked to joke and act like the dead, but every time his aunt reminded him of the realities of winter, the blood drained from his face. Now he was rapidly turning white as snow. He knew Qerhan had seen the dead at Hardhome, had bawled his eyes out when she told him about it, clinging to his mother. He pretended to be tough, this one, but the truth was he was afraid of everything.

Friegert tugged at her mantle. "Look!"

Something was moving through the trees. A big, brown something. Qerhan and the boys slowly dropped to a crouch, watching as the creature crept forward. She and Friegert both knocked arrows as Sigmund gripped his spear hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

It did not know they were there; it was coming from the opposite direction and the wind was against it. At a gesture from their aunt, the boys moved off to either side, and she loosened her axe in her belt as she crept forward. Ahead, she heard a crunching sound as it chewed the bark off one of the pine trees, followed by a loud snort.

_A boar_. Perfect. Hoping that the boys were in position, she drew and released. Her arrow sang through the air and landed in the beast's shoulder.

At once all hell broke loose. The boar let out a scream, bucking against the pain. Qerhan spotted Friegert in the shadows of a tree just a few feet behind it, and stepped out of her own hiding place. Enraged, it charged at her. She rolled aside and slipped in the snow as it checked its course and came again. Another whistle, and Friegert's arrow hit the animal in the leg. No good. With another cry, it came on, thundering close on Qerhan's heels as she darted among the trees. She caught a movement off to the side. Sigmund had clambered up onto a rock, spear in hand.

" _No!"_

Too late, with a bellow, the boy leapt down and thrust the point into its side. The beast leg out a roar, turning to meet his attacker, and ripping the weapon from Sigmund's grasp. Friegert shouted at him to jump aside, but his brother stood frozen in place as the animal lowered its head to charge.

_Crunch._

Qerhan's axe landed in its neck, near taking its head off, and the boar at once dropped. Friegert ran out to shake Sigmund back to reality as she hacked the head away. Qerhan knocked each of its tusks off and handed them to the boys as trophies.

"Friegert, pick up the head. Sigmund, wake up and help me with this."

She did not tell her sister what Sigmund had done that afternoon, but proudly declared that he had finished the boar when it was down. Aosidh gave Sigmund extra portions for that, and the boy seemed to shake off the last of his shock.

A whistle from without, and at a word from Shoni Tormund Giantsbane came to sit at their fireside. He declined a bowl of stew, but happily chewed on half-burnt boars ears while they finished.

At last Shoni set his bowl down and eyed him across the fire. "I take it you're not here to chat?"

Giantsbane accepted a sip of  _postrún_ from Polfrud and sighed. "Afraid not, cousin."

"So where are we going?" Qerhan asked, dropping chunks of stale bread into her stew to soften them.

"Eastwatch." Tormund answered.

"Where the fuck's that?"

"Far eastern end of the wall, believe it or not." He replied. "Snow believes that's where they'll be going next. Says it's undermanned."

"You mean it's a deathtrap?"

Shoni chuckled darkly.

"Sounds like it, doesn't it?"

"Who's going with us?"

"I've already spoken to everyone else."

Qerhan exchanged glances with her brother. "Only Free Folk?"

Tormund nodded, not meeting her eye.

"Well that's one way to get rid of us." Shoni sneered.

"It's not like that." Tormund said weakly.

"It isn't? And what will his people be doing while we sit and wait for the dead to find us?"

"...preparing."

" _Preparing?"_ Qerhan interjected. "We're to go north, to meet this army, and get slaughtered while they sit about  _preparing_?"

"Tormund." Shoni urged. "Don't you see what's happening here?"

"Aye, I see that you still don't like these southerners." Their cousin replied. "Even you, Qerhan, you don't trust them. You still think it's us versus them -"

"For fuck's sake, Tormund!" Shoni exclaimed. "I know you're not this dense! We're being sent right into the thick of it, with no hope of reinforcements when we need it, and you  _don't_ think this is wrong?"

Throwing a particularly black corner of ear into the fire, Tormund finally bowed his head. "Of course I think it's wrong, but I trust Jon. I don't believe he'll abandon us, when the time comes. If he does, I'll be the first to tell you all to get out. Then we'll come back here and skin every single one of these southern pricks."

Qerhan put her bowl down. "When do we leave?"

Tormund blinked at her. "You're coming."

"Sick of sitting around here." She responded. "I still think its a fucking stupid idea… But if I'm going to die I'd rather get it over with."

Tormund looked to her brother. "Not exactly the mentality I was looking for."

Shoni stood. "I'll go only to make sure you don't get my sister killed."

"Shoni -"

"Shut up Qerhan, I'm not done." Her brother stalked over to Giantsbane and crouched so that they were nose to nose. "And if she dies. If  _any_ of them die. I'll carve you up. You and your southern wench."

Tormund grinned up at him. "We leave at sunrise."


	29. Eastwatch

Twice, Qerhan had crossed the wall. Seeing it now for the third time, she recalled the first. Over a decade ago, she had scaled that impenetrable barrier with a handful of others, leaving her family behind. Shoni, she had left just a few miles southward, on the day he had spotted Wysu working in her father's fields. Ever confident in his pursuit of the opposite gender, he had gone on to work there for a full four years before finally working up the courage to approach the farmer's daughter. Wysu had admitted that she initially mistook him for a simpleton, and hadn't even known he could speak Westerosi before he finally opened up.

Looking over at her brother, she felt a pang of regret as she imagined all the time they could have spent together, had she not been so impatient. She also tried in vain to imagine how her life would have been if she had stayed put, in their tiny little village. She knew she would never have taken up with any of the local boys, they were far too boring. Perhaps she would have run away with a raider? Perhaps she could have seen her parents before the end. And the three who had been taken by walkers.

"It's a fucking kip!" Shoni exclaimed, glaring up at the sagging keep and broken walls of Eastwatch. "Remind me again, Tormund: why are we defending this? Just let them have it!"

"Shut your hole, Shoni." Tormund shot back. "Snow asked us to keep it, so we will."

"Yeah, he ask you to suck his cock before you left too?" Shoni growled. "I know you've been dying to."

A few of the others, Qerhan included, chuckled at this. Tormund turned his horse to face his cousin.

"Had your father and my father not been brothers, I'd stick you for that." He rasped. "I'll let you away with it.  _Once_. Not again."

Shoni did not quail, only smiled back at him.

Qerhan, not wishing to see either of them dead so soon, cleared her throat. "Are there any Crows left here?"

"About a dozen or so." Tormund answered, still giving Shoni daggers.

"A dozen!" She mused. "No wonder it's falling apart."

They found the fourteen Night's Watch men hunched around the tables in the mess hall, looking half-dead already. They were well fed enough - the gods knew these southerners knew how to hoard food, but there was no light or mirth in them.

In the hearth, the fire burned low, and Qerhan fed it another log. That roused the eldest, who  _tutted_ at her from the far side of the hall.

"That needs to do us all winter, girl!"

"Build a fire that low and you won't reach next week." She shot back, blowing at the flames. "You know there's plenty of trees just a mile westward? A whole wood."

"They'll all be dead soon." The man grumbled, not meeting her eye.

"That so?" She went over and looked down at him, scared, feeble thing as he was. "Because I saw through winters north of the wall. Far north, beyond Hardhome. There was always trees. They might loose their green, but they're still alive. Still good."

He mumbled something about 'too dangerous', and she laughed.

"So you're all to just sit here and wait to freeze to death? Well, in that case do it up in your cells. We need the hall."

"Qerhan's right." Tormund said, appearing at her shoulder. "I'll send two of your men west, and you sent two of yours. You got a cart?"

"Axle's frozen solid."

"No worries, your boys will soon have it thawed.  _Then_ they can escort my men west." For mind picked out two of the livlier boys and paired them with two of their folk, who dragged them off to see to the cart.

Qerhan and Shoni did a quick sweep of the keep. The buildings and grounds were eerily quiet, and showed little signs of having previously been inhabited. They even found bones in some of the rooms, men left behind decades before by their comrades to rot. These they took and burned in a large pile in the main courtyard, lest they become soldiers in the Night King's ever-growing army.

After a long while putting it off, they finally came to the Stairs. Once, Qerhan had heard Jon Snow speak of Castle Black, and he had mentioned a mechanical lift that brought people up and down the Wall with relative ease. Unfortunately, the Night's Watch did not seem so share technology, or news of any kind, so in order to get onto the Wall, once had to scale hundreds of slippery wooden steps.

Shoni panted, leaning against the rail for support. Qerhan kicked at some of the black ice coating their fifth and penultimate landing. There was a squat guard tower to their left, but of course no one within. She and her brother searched it, finding nothing more valuable than I flint box and a goblet dull of dust. The box they took. Still, it was a welcome distraction from their climb, and breathed fresh life into Shoni's 'aching limbs'. Thus they took on the final hurdle.

Standing on top of the world, looking south, then west, then north, and finally west, Qerhan judged the climb to have been very much worth it. Meanwhile, Shoni leaned against one of the wooden scaffolds and tried not to throw up on his boots.

"How high are we?"

Qerhan shrugged. "I've climbed smaller mountains."

"That's comforting."

"You're welcome." Not waiting for him, she walked over to the railings on the north side and looked out over her homeland. Shrouded in whirling clouds of snow, it looked peaceful, if not exactly cozy. "Hard to believe they're coming. I wonder if there's anyone… Any _thing_ left alive out there."

"It crossed my mind, too." Her brother said, not coming any closer. "There has to be, Qerhan. They couldn't have taken them all. If no-one else, those on the islands must be safe."

"Not many people on the islands." Qerhan recalled. "Certainly not many young ones. Mance called them all to him, remember? And the old can't face this alone."

"You need to be strong, to find winter's end." Shoni said, quoting their father. "Your mother and I've built all of you sturdy, it's up to you to focus on surviving."

"We all did, too."

"Just about. I remember how sick you got, and Dweru. We thought you'd perish, the both of you. Especially since you were so little. And the way you coughed sent the dread through our hearts."

"I still cough like that, sometimes."

"Not like  _that_." Shoni shook his head. "Sometimes you couldn't catch your breath. Mother was frantic."

"But she used her rubs and her potions. We were well soon enough."

"I worry." Shoni told her. "About Byron. I didn't want a babe so close on the verge of winter, but he came all of a sudden. He's tiny, Qerhan, such a frail thing -"

"He'll be fine, Shoni. Wysu will see to that."


	30. A Woman's Wrath

Tormund was fond of patrols. He sent out an average of six per week: four north and two south. Shoni told her he wrote to Winterfell on the regular, though he received few ravens in return. He also introduced new rules and regulations around the keep, ensuring everyone present pulled their weight, Crows included. The southern men grumbled loudly about their new friends, but caused no trouble, as they knew they were vastly outnumbered.

The worst trouble came from the presence of Qerhan and the other spearwives. The Crows, not having seen much in the way of women during their service, were starved for attention, and caused more than a handful of incidents, which in turn led to a good few black eyes. Hence Tormund decreed that there were plenty of empty cells awaiting anyone found bothering his folk, cells which were quickly occupied, which meant more work for everyone else.

Qerhan was fixing one of the tables in the mess hall one afternoon when the door banged open. Shoni's boots left a trail of fresh snow across the floor as he marched over to her.

"Qerhan!" He chirped excitedly, tugging at her leg. "Qerhan, come quick. You won't believe what the southern patrol dragged in!"

The six small cells were lit partly by a handful of sputtering torches, and partly by the sunlight spilling through three narrow skylights. At present, only two were occupied. On her left, two particularly persistent Crows leered at her through the bars, one of them making wet kissing noises while the other eyed her. Shoni jabbed at them with his spear until they retreated to the far side of the cage.

Taking her arm, he led her further in. The last cell on the right contained three men. two of whom watched as she approached. The one with the eyepatch turned to gawk, while the one in the corner leaned forward into the sunlight.

"Well there's a pretty one." He rasped. "They send you to ask more questions? I might remember something else, if you'll ask nicely."

He grinned up at her with yellowed teeth. Qerhan scowled at him.

"Forgive my friend, my lady." Eyepatch said smoothly. "It's been a long time since either of us-"

She pushed him roughly aside, suddenly intent on the one stretched out on his narrow cot. The good side of his face was to her, and he appeared to be sleeping. Did not even turn his head to see what his companions were yammering about. She hugged the bars for support, heart fluttering.

" _Sandor_   _Clegane_."

That got his attention, alright. At once his eyes snapped open, and he sat bolt upright. His eyes locked with hers and for a long while the world seemed to freeze in place. The other two exchanged bewildered glances.

He stood, head almost hitting the ceiling as he rose to full height, and in a single stride was before her, reaching through the bars to clutch at her, both of them unable to form words. At last, Qerhan took a deep breath.

"Shoni… Shoni, let him out."

Her brother obeyed, striding past her with the keys. Sandor prowled on the other side as the lock clicked, and rushed like a stallion out of the gate once the door was open. With a warning growl, Shoni shut the door in Eyepatch's face.

His clothes were dirty, his hair unkempt. He had lost weight. His eyes shone above darkened circles and on his chin there stood the shadow of black stubble. Not to mention he stank. Qerhan knew she was no better, in her furs, horseshit on her boots and a new scar on her lip where she had fought with a wight. But none of that mattered.

Sandor stepped forward, ready to embrace her, reached down to her as she came to meet him, and received a firm clap across the face for his efforts. Both of his friends hissed in sympathy.

" _You fucking idiot_!" Even Shoni, who had been on the receiving end of her temper multiple times, quaked.

Palm to cheek, he righted himself, staring at her, stunned, for a moment before attempting. "Qerhan, I-"

"Shut the fuck up!" She shoved him back with all her might as he took another step forward. "I don't want to hear it! Any of it!"

"Just let me explain -"

"Explain  _what_? Two shagging years! Two years, Sandor! You promised you would come for me, and you  _never did!"_

" _I did!_ " He shot back. "I came after you! But...I..."

"You  _what_?" She raised her hand to strike him again and, seeing him flinch, lowered it. "What's your excuse, Sandor?"

He rubbed at his face. Not for the pain. She knew he had dealt with worse. When he raised his head once more, the shimmer of tears had left his eyes. He glanced into the cell, and the other two stared back.

"Is there somewhere we can talk?"

Qerhan led him into what she could only describe as the warden's office; a tiny, square room fitted with a desk, a rickety chair and a narrow fireplace. Once the door, Sandor tried to hold her again, and she jumped away. There it was again, that moist shimmer in his eyes. She bit her lip and looked away.

"Out with it."

He sighed, and seemed to deflate, those immense shoulders collapsing inward with the weight of his misery. "Qerhan, I swear to you, I tried to come. I couldn't get the Stark girl out, the older one. But...I found the younger one on the road. She was dressed like a boy and headed for the Night's Watch. I tried to take her to her mother and brother, but -"

"I heard."

He frowned. "You did?"

"Aye."

"Well, after that I wanted to take her to her aunt in -"

"The Eyrie."

He blinked. "Yes, well… It was on the way there that we ran into trouble and I got injured -"

"And she left you by the road to die."

"How exactly do you know all this."

"Arya told me."

"Arya?" He gasped. "She's alive."

Qerhan nodded. "Sansa, too. They're at Winterfell, with what's left of their family."

He wiped a tear away from his ruined cheek. "Ah...um...well that's a relief."

Qerhan folded her arms. "Keep going."

He mouthed a few indistinct words. "A priest found me -"

"Right."

"Put me back together -"

"I can see that."

"And after -"

"Yes?"

"He um…"

Silence.

"Told me I should stay. To… To heal…"

"Uh-huh."

He looked down imploringly. She was sure she was supposed to accept all of this, but her heart hurt too much, and he did not understand.

"So when were you planning to come for me?"

He brushed his hair back away from his face.

"I'm not sure."

She gritted her teeth against the tears that sprang forth, kicked the table leg and immediately regretted it. Sandor came to help her and he elbowed him away.

" _Don't touch me!"_

"Qerhan, I swear, I would have come for you!"

" _When?_ " She roared. " _When exactly were you planning on making your grand appearance, Sandor_?"

"I…" He gasped for breath. Then came his booming shout: " _The fuck do you want me to say!?_ "

She passed a hand over her eyes, managing her breathing, then responded hoarsely. "Nothing. There's nothing you can say, Sandor."

He threw his hands up, defeated, tears running forth freely now. "So what, after all this time...after all these months dreaming of you… You don't want me?"

"No." She breathed, then pushed the rest of the words out before he turned and left: "No I  _do_  want you, Sandor. That's what hurts the most. I never stopped wanting you. But that doesn't mean I can't be  _fucking furious_  with you right now."

He put his hands to his hips and bent double, as one near fainting. When he righted himself, his eyes were clear, and they met each other's gaze truly and calmly.

"Tell me." He urged. "Tell me why you're so angry."

There it was. The thing that needed to be told. As it loomed between them, Qerhan inhaled deeply, steeling herself to the task.

"Sit down."

He tilted his head. "What? Why?"

She lifted the chair from behind the desk and set it before him. "I think it would be best."

"I don't want to sit down."

There it was that obstinacy. She snorted. How she loved that about him. But not now. He had not changed, truly. As Sandor stared at her, silver eyes pinning her, demanding, her mouth seemed to independently form the words:

"You have a daughter."


	31. Reunited

He sat then, legs of the chair screeching across the floor as it struggled to take his weight. Sandor looked at her, and for the first time since she had known him he seemed truly vulnerable. And she felt the love swell in her chest, warming her.

" _A daughter?"_

Qerhan nodded, wiping at her eyes. "...her name is Rosha. She's… she's over one now."

He closed his eyes and hung his head. "Is she here?"

"No." She answered. "She's in Braavos. With my brother's family."

"She's safe."

"Aye, she's safe."

His hand clamped around her wrist. Qerhan tried to pull away, but it was like a vice. Sandor hauled her down onto his knee, enclosing her in his arms. She struggled feebly, anger still burning at her, but he held on, kissing her neck and face as best he could. When she gave in, he gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him.

"What's she like?"

Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks, wetting his callused fingers. It had been months since she had seen her child. She could scarce picture her herself.

"She's a lot like you." She told him. "Black hair. The same mouth. Her eyes are bluer."

He caressed her cheek. "Like yours?"

She gestured from him to her, struggling to speak. "Some...somewhere between the two."

He laughed then. An open, joyous thing. Said nothing, only waited for her to continue.

"She's a sweet thing. Quiet, affectionate. But surprisingly independent. She was walking last I saw her… She's  _tall_ , by the gods. She was always big. Near killed me coming -"

His arm tightened around her, and she saw the concern wash over his face. Qerhan paused.

"I should have been there." He whispered, resting his head on her shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Qerhan."

An apology from Sandor Clegane. The improbability of it was not lost on her. In spite of her frustration, she turned into him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, tilting her head to his. Did she not love him, after all?

He stiffened when she pressed her lips to his ruined face. Qerhan nudged his jaw, tugging his head back up, covering his mouth with hers. Suckling on on lip, then the other, urging them apart.

" _Kiss me_."

He did just that, which such ferocity that she hastened to respond, pulling his hair, nails digging into his scalp as she sought to reclaim all of those lost embraces. All of the feelings that had stagnated and turned to poison.

They sat there, locked together, unwilling to let go long enough for breath, until the words burst forth from both of them, spilling out and around them, healing their wounded souls:

"I love you."

"By the gods, I love you."

" _So much_."

"More than I can say."

"Do you love  _her..._ do you want her?"

"I want her, more than life itself."

When they eventually emerged, somewhat sheepishly, the caged Crows sneered up at them, making kissy noises. A snarl from Sandor silenced them. Shoni was sitting on the floor, chatting with his companions through the bars. He winked up at them.

"So she let you live, then?"

Sandor glared at him. "Who the fuck are you?"

He snorted. Qerhan stepped between them.

"Sandor, this is my brother. Shoni this is -"

Without warning, Shoni threw his arms around Sandor, hugging him tight.

"You know she never shuts up about you."

Qerhan flushed, glaring back at Sandor's cocky expression. In the cell, Eyepatch coughed. Sandor extracted himself to point from him to Topknot. "Beric… Thoros."

Topknot stood up from his corner to smile out at Qerhan. "And who is this?"

"My wife."

"Didn't know you were married, Clegane."

"Didn't deem it any of your fucking business."

If Qerhan was surprised by Sandor's claim, she did not show it, only eyed Thoros and Beric with suspicion. The latter chuckled, but did not let them in on the joke.

"So, can we go now?" He asked Shoni.

"No." Her brother responded.

"But Clegane -"

"Sandor." Shoni interjected. "Is my sister's responsibility. She will vouch for him before the others. Neither of us can grant either of you the same privilege."

Beric looked to Davis, who shrugged. They both turned to Sandor, who only stared at them. Grumbling, the two settled back into their default positions, scowling out at him.

Sandor did not seem to care.


	32. Northbound

When Jon Snow arrived with his own band of dodgy-looking vagabonds, they all stood around the courtyard watching one another with equal mistrust. Tormund marched out to embrace him, and they exchanged hurried words, her cousin's face dropping with every syllable.

He and Snow came to them, and the lad stared up at Sandor.

"I know you. You're the Hound."

"Not any more." Sandor retorted dryly.

"Tormund, what is it?" Qerhan pressed.

"Snow and company want to go North." He replied, looking helplessly from her to Shoni. "Says he's on a mission from the Dragon Lady."

"Queen Daenerys." Snow said. "Has entrusted us with a mission to obtain one of the wights to present to Queen Cersei, as proof-"

"Cersei?" Sandor interrupted. "You're going to Cersei?"

"I will personally present the creature to both queens in the Dragonpit-"

"Great. A suicide mission." Sandor grumbled, stamping his feet. "Can we go in before I freeze my balls off?"

"Actually, Clegane." Tormund said. "This could be the chance for your companions to prove themselves."

After much discussion, in which Thoros and Beric both waffled on about some god of theirs until Sandor looked ready to smash their heads against the wall, and loudly spoke of such desires, they all agreed that Show would lead a party beyond the wall. Despite his grumbling, Sandor surprised Qerhan by immediately volunteering for the job, then immediately irked her by objecting to her going.

As the others walked out, he cornered her.

"Qerhan, you can't -"

"Don't you dare try to tell me what to do, Sandor Clegane." She snapped. "I'm going, and that's final."

"It's too dangerous!"

She scoffed, leaning toward him. "You're telling me? You don't even know how dangerous it is! You don't even believe in the dead, or the Night King, do you?"

"Of course not! Its fucking ridiculous!"

"If that's what you believe, you're the one who needs to stay behind." She replied. "I've seen them, Sandor. Thousands strong, mindless, shambling puppets. Their King sends them forth, and they rip everything - everyone - to shreds. You weren't at Hardhome. You didn't see the slaughter, the chaos. And when it was all done, you didn't see them rise."

He frowned down at her. "You can't be serious."

"I'm serious. And I'm serious when I say I've never been more terrified in my life. Snow too. Even Tormund was frozen with the fear of them. If there's going to be any hope for any of us to survive the Long Night, we need these two queens fighting with us."

He examined her face, looking for any trace of a lie. Finding none, he nodded. "You know I trust your word, but… It sounds like a fucking fairy tale."

"More like a nightmare. "

"Aye, that too."

"You don't have to come."

"But you're still going?"

"Yes."

"Then I don't have much choice, do I?"

She found him a cloak, some furs and even a sword. Sandor surprised her by producing a hatchet out of his bundle of belongings. A woodcutter's axe at best, it was blunt and unbalanced, but he fixed it to his belt with care.

"Where'd you get that?"

"A...friend." He replied, touching the handle.

"The brothers?"

"Aye."

"You'll have to tell me about them."

"I will. When there's time."

She adjusted the furs higher on his neck. "You almost look like one of us, you know. Axe and all."

"Don't fucking insult me." He jeered, accepting a jab to the ribs with glee.

Qerhan tossed a scarf at him and readied herself as he tied it before his mouth. over the thick wool, his eyes narrowed with laughter as he saw her in her full raiment, helm and all. Drawing her close, he rapped on the bear skull, sending echoes through her head.

"Now that's a wildling." He commented.

She stood on tiptoe and pressed her covered mouth to his. Then hugged him close, hoping to whatever gods existed that they would both return.

"Oi." Shoni interrupted the moment as he strode through the door, sending a flurry of icy snowflakes at them. "Cuddle later. We're going."

It was colder than she remembered. Qerhan pulled her scarf up further, until she could hardly see. No matter. There was not much to look at, at least not yet. A few yard ahead the boy, Gendry stumbled and fell. The one called Mormont pulled him up and pushed him on. Had no business being here, that boy. Qerhan had heard him remark that he'd never seen snow before.

Well this was one hell of an introduction.

Sandor swayed over to her, bent double and hugging himself like that would fend off the cold. She reached over and yanked his hood down properly. Heard him growl something about walking blind in response. Rolling her eyes, she took his hand, and only managed to walk him a few steps before he stubbornly shook her off. Qerhan sniggered.

Rosha was wont to do the same.

That night, they all huddled together in the flimsy shelter of a narrow overhang, with a low fire burning before them. They could risk neither smoke nor light. The free folk took shifts in twos, watching both the lands and the frail southerners. Qerhan hardly slept a wink, waking every few minutes to check on Sandor. Once or twice she found him awake, which put her at ease. She sat herself across him, and he rubbed at her limbs, thinking her cold. But he could not tell how much he shivered himself, and she pressed his head to her inward shoulder, tucking his hands between her thighs and arranging her furs around him.

It was brighter today, the sun bouncing blindingly off the pure white snow. Warmer too. Qerhan had pushed back her hood, enjoying the feel of the rays on her head. Glancing over at her, Sandor did the same. By now his hair was as tangled and matted as any of her people. Snow's too. Only those who kept it short were exempt. But long hair kept you warm at the worst of times, where the others shook like leaves in the wind.

Feeling a draft at her elbow, she stopped short, looking about for Sandor. Shoni caught her and chuckled.

"He's chatting with Tormund."

Qerhan followed his eye and spotted the two of them coming up the hill, her cousin nattering away; Sandor with a pained look in his eyes. When he saw her he picked up his pace, with Tormund hot on his heels, still going on. As they approached, her cousin noticed her and waved.

"Just telling the big man here about my southern beauty." He declared proudly, patting Sandor on the back. Sandor looked at him as though pondering his need for emphasis. "Apparently he knows of her!"

Qerhan raised her eyebrows. "Does he?"

"She has a reputation." Sandor said, his face saying it all.

"Have you met her?"

"Never."

"It doesn't do her justice."

"Oh."

Tormund burst out laughing, throwing arm across her shoulders. "Now now, cousin, no need for jealousy! I can tell he's only got eyes for you! And...well… If they ever stray, I can promise you I won't let him anywhere near my giant woman!"

Sandor looked fit to retch. Luckily, that seemed enough for Tormund, and he strode off to bother Snow.

They exchanged glances, and at last he said: "Cousin?"

"On my father's side."

"I see the resemblance."

She tried to trip him, and he caught her, both of them tumbling to the snow, hooting with laughter. The others stopped to stare at the commotion, and Shoni threw a snowball which hit his sister square in the face. Sandor, deeming this to be the funniest thing he had ever seen, demanded to be shown how to make such missiles, much to the woe of young Gendry, who became his primary target.


	33. Beyond the Wall

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS A MAJOR SPOILER FOR THE SHOW.**

**It is loosely based on what happened beyond the wall, but I've tweaked it to my own liking and also addressed my one major issue about how the episode played out: no one thought to bring arrows.**

On the fifth day, they found them. The vanguard of the Night King's army. A mounted Other led them, carrying an icy spear in hand. There were hundreds of them, lurching in inapparent ranks. Dead humans and two giants, too, all flanked by about forty chittering ice spiders, big as Dakra, with one or two even greater still; big enough to hold a man.

Beside her, she heard Sandor swear and brace himself against a rock as all his southern notions of fantasy and reality shattered. The rest of his people, save perhaps for Snow, expressed similar feelings of disbelief, shock, and in the case of the boy, panic. One by one, they all turned to Snow and Tormund for instructions.

They had to get the Other. That much was certain. As long as he was there, the Walkers were under his command. The spiders and giants were worthy of concern, but they could outrun the latter, and the arachnids were extremely flammable.

The one thing of concern was the bear. It was twice the size of the beast Qerhan had slain in her youth. If would be strong and fast and angry to boot. They could only hope it took out some of the wights when it inevitably charged.

"If all else fails." Snow told them. "Retreat west and head for Castle Black, out of the way of the rest of the army."

Qerhan was to stay behind cover with the rest of the archers, who fanned out around the enemy, three fighters to each. Sandor, Shoni and Gendry came with her. As they waited for the signal, her brother struck a small fire behind their rock. They grouped around it, and Shoni hugged his sister hard. Seeing the colour slowly draining from his face, Qerhan patted Gendry, offering what few words of encouragement she could.

Sandor, she could hardly bring herself to look at Sandor. He tilted her chin up to him, and Shoni drew Gendry to a respectful distance. Qerhan lowered her scarf, pulling his down to kiss him. He helped her put on her helm, uncharacteristically quiet.

Taking a deep breath, he said: "I wish I could see her. Just once."

Qerhan cupped his face in her hands, stroking some warmth into his cold cheeks. "You will."

A cry from the other side of the pass as Tormund sprang out. All around their sparse infantry began to descend on the enemy, who let out shouts of their own as they turned to engage. Without another word, Gendry, her brother and her husband charged away from her.

Qerhan set to work, lighting her bound arrows and sending them flying at the spiders. As soon as one struck home, one of the monsters burst into flame, screeching and skittering in the fray, setting some of the Walkers alight in the process.

As soon as this started to happen, eight legged demons charging here and there, spreading fiery destruction, she saw Sandor stop short, wavering.  _No, no. Keep on_. She knew he feared the flames, but surely -

A wight came as him, rusty sword in the air, and Qerhan cried out. Just in time, he wheeled and caught the blow with his sword, sending a dragonglass dagger into its heart.

_Too close. Too close._

Terror setting into her bones, she lit and loosed all of her quiver in a frenzy. sending them as far away from Sandor as she could. Luckily the dead were tightly knit, and most of them hit something regardless of how well she aimed.

With her ammo spent, she took her axe in hand and ran out, ignoring the protests of the other archers. Sandor and Gendry were caught on all sides by six Walkers, both of them looking scared beyond reason. With a roar, Qerhan charged in, swinging her weapon in an arc that dismembered three unsuspecting wights, and drew the attention of the others.

"The fuck you doing?" Sandor roared, slicing a rattling skeleton in half.

" _Helping_!" She shot back, lunging at a Walker trying to take Gendry unawares. The lad whispered a prayer and thanked her before sending his hammer through another.

A roar drew their attention. Tormund, Thoros and Beric had crossed the bear, which charged at them at top speed, running through anything in its way, including two of the remaining spiders. Beric made a gesture, and flames shot up his sword.

"Holy shit!" Qerhan remarked, visibly impressed.

Sandor grumbled something and rushed over to help, cutting down another three Walkers on the way. Qerhan followed, along with a reluctant Gendry.

The bear ploughed through one of the giants, sending it crashing to the snow. Tormund ran for it from one side, Shoni and some of the other free folk from the other. They scrambled up onto it and hacked til the roaring stopped, and one enormous hand flopped lifelessly down.

There was no stopping the bear, who batted two men away with one paw and came on. Qerhan danced around it, dragging Gendry with her and aiming for its legs. Sandor and Thoros could be seen over its back, performing a similar little jig as they sought to stay away from the head. But Beric, with his flaming sword, met it head on, thrusting at its broken face. Fire was enough to halt its rampage, and it reared up, swiping desperately at him. On the other side, Sandor drove his sword into the beast's leg and it turned even as he struggled to pull it back, back handing him. He toppled, sword still sticking out of white fur, and Qerhan screamed. Before it could snap its jaws, however, Thoros jumped between them, and it lifted him instead, shrieking as those teeth crunched down on his ribs. Gendry was there with the hammer, and hit the beast on the back, so that it spat Thoros out. Cursing it, Beric came forward for another assault, sinking his fiery blade into the monster's flank.

The bear went up then, and Qerhan ran to pull a dazed Sandor aside. No good. He was too heavy, floored with fear as he was. Gendry was there, at his other arm, and they managed to drag him aside. The undead animal hurtled past, throwing Walkers aside, spreading the fire further. The Other saw it coming too late, and it ploughed into his horse, sending them both to the ground. The steed caught, scrambling up and adding to the chaos. Its master collected himself more slowly. Too slowly, and Snow plunged his sword through his back.

The Other burst apart. And just like that, the remaining Walkers under his control dropped, too, leaving only a few dozen standing. Snow gestured for them to retreat, indicating Tormund, who had one of the wights trussed up over his shoulder with Shoni defending him.

"Sandor, come  _on_!" She growled, jostling his head til he moved. Pushing Gendry ahead, they turned and fled over the hill. At the crest they found Beric kneeling over a lifeless Thoros. Sandor looked down at them both and sighed.

"Come on then, Beric." He rasped. "You're on your last life now. Best not waste it."

"Aye." Agreed the other man, and touched his flickering sword to Thoros' chest. Sandor winced as the fire began to lap at his fallen friend.

A cry from further down, and the rest could be seen clambering up the hill with the Walkers after them. Beric went back to help, punching a hole in the advancing dead for them to get through. Taking Sandor's hand, Qerhan sprinted, following Gendry as he half-fell down the rocky decline. There was a frozen lake below and beyond that, freedom.

Lucky, Qerhan was so close behind the boy, and knew not to trust the opaque white of the ice. As soon as he set his foot on it, it cracked and broke, and his leg sank down into the freezing water. He screamed, and she and Sandor fell to their knees to pull him back up. Sandor put an arm around him, and Qerhan took his hand. There was an island in the middle of the lake: a squat little hill of rock. It was too wide to go around, not with the dead at their backs. She led her husband around to an outhrust of rock and tested the surface.

It held. Beyond Sandor, Tormund and Shoni stopped the others, who fought to keep the wights back. Once they were far enough out, the rest began to make their way across, following the line Qerhan deliberately made in the snow. Once on the rock, they turned to watch as the dead poured over the hill, and were taken into the depths.

"They can't swim." Snow observed with he spoke, one of the giants crashed to its demise. "Thank the gods."

"Ummm…." Tormund uttered, pointing.

The dead could not cross, but the spiders could. One of them tapped gingerly at the ice, then confidently began to strut across, followed by its brethren.

"Dondarrion." Qerhan said. "Your sword. Shoni, arrows."

They understood, and instant she and a half-dozen others nocked and fired on the arachnids, There were only a few left, and they were easy pickings.

Exhausted, they collapsed in a large circle on the hard rock. Sandor at once caught her in his arms, pulling her to him. Qerhan laid her head on his shoulder, limbs heavy. A few yards away, some of the free folk were burning two bodies, and he barely had the energy to grimace. Tormund and Jon held their captive down, tying him tighter and wrapping him in a blanket to prevent him from injuring anyone. It was the first time Qerhan noticed all of the scratches on her cousin's face.

Night fell, and they huddled close together in groups. Qerhan must have fallen asleep, for she awoke to the sound of a quarrel.

Gendry and one of Tormund's men were squaring up, with one of the blackened bodies between them. There was grease around the wildling's mouth, and at once Qerhan saw what was happening.

Shaking Sandor off, she strode over to the traumatized boy, laying a hand on his shoulder once more. He looked at her wide-eyed, then back to the man, who raised his eyebrow and grinned.

"Gendry, leave it."

"But they're...he's…"

"I know. And I'm telling you to leave it."

"But that's one of his people!"

Qerhan frowned down at him. "That's damn right. One of  _his_ people. And you'd best mind your own business."

Gendry looked ready to cry, eyes darting from her to the body to the man now wiping his lips. The one called Mormont appeared out of nowhere, muttering to him and guiding him away.

The wildling snorted. "Soft."

"Just a lad who has no business being this far north." She responded.

He crouched down and recommenced carving up his friend's arm. "Want some?"

Her belly rumbled, but she looked to Sandor, those silver eyes watching her as always. "Can't stomach anything with all those dead parked on the shore."

"Can't blame you." He produced a flask from under his furs. "Take that, lass. Share it with your southern man over there. He looks about ready to drop."

He was right, Sandor was slowly losing colour. Had been since they first came north. Unlike Gendry, he was too proud to admit he was cold. That worried her. So she took the flask with thanks and shuffled back to him.

"He's eating him." Sandor noted with distaste, sipping from the proffered canister.

"Aye." she concurred. "Nothing else for miles."

"I half wondered it you were about to join him."

Qerhan stiffened. Surely he hadn't heard? "He  _did_ offer."

He made a face. Not wanting any more of this conversation, she snuggled up to him, tucking the furs round his legs and arse.

"Oi." He sniggered. "None of that. It's too cold!"

"Just trying to warm you up."

The sun had barely peeped over the horizon before Tormund awoke them with a kick.

"Up! Both of you, now!"

Sandor muttered something murderous, but Qerhan was already on her feet, dragging the blankets off him and stuffing them away. She straightened, stretching the ache from her limbs.

"What's the plan, Chief?" She jeered, waiting for him to respond with some quip.

But there was no laughter in his eyes. "There's no plan. We're trapped."

He pointed, and she turned to follow his gaze. Her mouth dropped open, and she took a few steps back. Sandor was already looking, frozen in place.

Another regiment had caught up to the vanguard. Another sea of Walkers and a watchful Other at the head of their ranks. A team of spiders was presently sliding down the steep northward slope of the lake and tiptoeing across the ice.

"Archers!" She bellowed, snatching up her bow. "Someone give me arrows. Dondarrion, fire, please."

"Qerhan," Shoni replied. "There's not enough arrows. We burned most of them yesterday-"

"How many?"

"Sixteen."

Her knees weakened. " _Sixteen_." She turned to where the Other sat, grinning at them. "Well, we'll just have to make each one count. The rest can't get us just yet. Just aim for the spiders."

They came faster now, long legs clacking over the solid surface of the lake. Qerhan and her small group of archers knelt on the highest point of their tiny island. At her word they knocked, aiming into the air, letting their last few hopes fly at the advancing arachnids. Once more, when they caught, they really went up, darting around in a frenzy and setting the others ablaze. They managed to take out the two forward lines, but they demons just kept coming.

In a minute, they were clambering up the rock to the marooned humans, mouths clicking in some mockery of language. Beric leapt at them, lighting a few others with his flaming sword. Gendry ran up to the other flank and knocked four aside screeching.

Tormund let out a shout, and the free folk set to work. Qerhan jumped down with them, axe cleaving one between the eyes. But where one fell, two took its place. They would never get out at this rate.

Another blow from Gendry, and a huge hole opened in the ice, swallowing a handful of smaller critters. Tormund danced forward, thrusting at his own opponent, laughing when it tumbled backwards into the hole. With an enraged scream, the spider spat something viscous and sticky at him, which caught his leg, and suddenly Tormund was falling, his folk desperately hacking at the creatures that rushed forward to feast. It was Sandor who pulled him out of the water, with Beric watching his back. Rapidly losing men, they dragged each other back up onto the higher ground, all now glaring at Snow, who at least had enough sense to look guilty.

"We're dead!" Poor young Gendry exclaimed. "Fucking dead, Jon!"

"She'll come. I told you she'd come." The bastard babbled.

"Who the fuck are you talking about?!" Sandor shouted. "Your fucking dragon queen! If you haven't guessed it yet, you're as thick as the rest of those Starks! She wanted you out of the way, wanted the North, and you just bleeding handed it to her like a gobshite!"

"Snow," Tormund growled. "You've doomed us."

The King in the North looked to their caught wight -now lying quietly, probably sensing its salvation coming - then back up to his comrades. "She'll come. I know she will. We just -"

A roar shook the skies. From the low grey clouds, three enormous shapes dove toward them. Upon two of them sat two silver-haired riders. Queen Daenerys had come, with King Aegon in tow, and three fire breathing dragons. Even Snow gaped up in wonder. "How in the world did she convince him…?"

Drogon, with the queen on his back, swooped at the two undead armies, jaws spewing a torrent of red flames which rent a huge black tear in their numbers. Viserion wheeled over the frozen lake, and at a word from Aegon, turned it to a boiling, frothing abyss which promptly destroyed the oncoming spiders. Sandor gripped Qerhan's arm tight enough to stop the blood, but she was too rapt to notice. Done with the arachnids, Aegon checked the milky white dragon, and aimed him straight for the scowling Other.

A  _whoosh_  of upswept air, and Daenerys brought the black on down onto the rock, sending all of them scrambling out of the way. Sandor hauled up the wight and jumped on, to Qerhan's surprise and delight, without a second thought, Gendry and Beric joining them along with four wildlings. The dragon spread its wings and lifted them to the very far side of the lake, out of the fray.

Jon and the others were still down there. And Viserion was intent on destroying what Walkers he could see. Queen Daenerys shouted to the third one, Rhaegal, and it came down on the rock, scattering the exhausted warriors once more.

On the far side, Aegon brought his mount low, fiery jaws, opening as it flew straight at the Other. A flash, a bellow, a wail from Daenerys and Aegon alike, and the dragon fell from the air, a shining spear through his heart. Viserion hit the bank and tumbled into the water, throwing Aegon off him. The two went other, and both Rhaegal and Drogon wailed for their fallen brother.

Shouting from the island drew their attention, and Qerhan looked to see Jon and Jorah pulling Aegon from the water with some difficulty. His clothes were half burned-off, but he himself was unscathed. Jon helped him up the slope and onto the weeping green dragon.


	34. To the sea

They took a few days to recuperate at Eastwatch, but the queen and two kings were eager to be off. It would not be long before the Night King's army reached the Wall, and they needed Queen Cersei on their side before that happened.

When Queen Daenerys' ship dropped anchor offshore, they were ready to leave. It had been agreed that Qerhan would go to King's Landing, leaving her family behind once more.

"Not for long." She promised. "Just a few days. A week maybe. I swear. Snow will be wanting to return to Winterfell soon."

"I'll look for you there, when and if I return." Shoni said glumly.

"Don't say it like that." Qerhan gave him a rap on the shoulder.

"If I don't…" He went on. "Wysu, Lynn, Byron…"

"I'll look after them."

"No, Qerhan. Get them out. Send them to Braavos with the others. Because if the Wall falls all is lost."

She nodded, and hugged her brother, then dear old cousin Tormund, who had a few, less wholesome, words for the Big Woman. Turning, she found Sandor trapped in a bear hug from her brother. He did not quite seem to mind it this time, at least not until Tormund joined in.

Within a few hours, it became apparent that Sandor had never been on the open sea. One or two of the others struggled to find their legs, Qerhan included, but he staggered from one end of the ship to the other, creating quite the spectacle for everyone onboard. A few of the Dothraki warriors laughed openly, and she had had to pull him away before he ended up as chum.

On the eve of their first day, Snow asked him to check on their 'present' for Cersei. Curious to see if the creature was still alive herself, Qerhan volunteered to accompany him down into the hold. If Sandor was bad on the flat surface of the deck, the stairs leading down to where they kept their food and precious cargo were impossible. He wobbled so badly at one lurch of the ship that she took the lamp from him, fearing he would set them all on fire. Turning grumpily, she was sure he meant to stamp down the rest of the steps, but the vessel heaved again. He misses his footing and went tumbling down the stairs.

Qerhan, ever the loving, caring wife, burst out laughing, slumping down on one step to howl at him as he stumbled to his feet, swaying like he'd drunk an ocean of wine. He did not seem to get the joke.

"Graceful."

"Shut up."

She stick her tongue out at him. He rolled his eyes.

"Are you going to bring me the shagging light or what?"

Qerhan made her way carefully down the rest of the steps, and followed Sandor through the darkness until they reached the box. It was made of good, thick wood. Dry wood, which would burn well when they no longer needed it. Sandor removed the heavy metal bolts on one side and carefully edged it open.

A shriveled hand shot through the gap and held as it strained against its chains. He wrestled it back in and shut the lid with a curse.

"Still moving." Qerhan said.

"Seems fucking so." He swayed with another rock of the ship and sat down on one of the food crates. "I just hope it'll convince the Lannister cunt to side with us."

"What do you think she'll do?"

"Shit herself when she sees it, that's for certain. Cersei never did have the stomach for ghoulish sights, though she caused enough. After that, once she recovers, I'm sure she'll go right back to being her usual, venomous self."

"We should just kill her, then."

"Aye," He agreed. "We should."

Sandor reached out and took her hand. Turning it, he ran his fingers over the cuts and calluses that mottled her palm.

"You're different, you know." He told her. "Still the same stupid bitch, but bolder. I thought you were a force to be reckoned with when you were a kitchen maid. But seeing you fight… I know I would have been dead ten times over if you hadn't come north."

He kissed her broken skin. Qerhan smiled.

"You're different too, you know." She responded. "Still a grumpy shit, but less angry. And there's something so much more  _open_  about the way you talk and act."

"The Hound is dead. But Sandor Clegane is still healing."

"Elder brother?"

"Aye."

"Tell me."

"Another time." He stood, still holding her hand, and tried to lead her up the stairs. Qerhan, walking behind, steadied him when he stumbled. Snow had generously arranged a cabin for them, and this is where Sandor led her. After shutting the door, he hesitated.

"Look, I know you might still be angry with me." He said softly, touching her face. "And I know it might take time for you to... _want_ me again. I just want you to know I won't touch you as long as -"

"The fuck are you nattering about?" Qerhan snorted, bringing her hands to the fastenings of his cloak, yanking them apart and shoving the heavy black fabric off his shoulders. " _Take off your clothes_."

That was all he needed: he set about undoing the buttons of his black jerkin, silver eyes shining in the lamplight, widening with delight as she discarded her bearskin mantle. She moved faster than him, and moved to help, grabbing his wrists and forcing them away from the ties of his breeches.

Sandor chuckled. "You always liked doing that yourself."

"That's because I get to do this." Qerhan palmed him firmly through the thick material, watching his eyes shut, breath hissing through his teeth. His bare chest rose, and she bent her head to taste his flesh, passing her palm over the bumps and ridges she had missed so much, reaching up to bring his face to hers. When they kissed, she felt the heat of it surge through her, invigorating her.

She had forgotten how warm his hands were, how his calluses tickled against her soft skin. He reminded her how gentle he could be, and how strong, how demanding his touch could get when she coaxed him, grabbing and squeezing greedily, kissing her and sucking on her tongue painfully, fingers threading through her hair and yanking her head further back.

Qerhan managed his laces and forced his breeches down, kneeling and helping him out of both bottoms and boots. His hands planted on either side of her head, pushing her towards his hardened member. She opened her mouth like a good girl, teasing the tip with her tongue, smiling up at him like she knew he enjoyed. He grunted, fingers enclosing her neck, pressing further so that she took him into her warm mouth, sucking hungrily on him as he rocked his hips. He knew her limits, and stopped whenever she pressed her hands against his thighs. Qerhan rarely did, however, savoring the salty taste of him, loving the way he panted and said her name.

Sandor jerked and swore. " _Enough, enough!"_

Helping her up from the floor, he let her guide him to the bed, eyes roving over her body as she laid herself before him. Taking a pillow, he put it under his own knees, and hooked his elbows around her knees, pulling her half over the edge. He then set about kissing her from neck to hip, trailing his mouth and hands up and down her prone form, rumbling in satisfaction at the little noises that escaped her.

When he bent to kiss her core, she knew he found her already wet, heard him gasp something to that effect as he dipped his tongue into her, tasting her arousal. Sandor knew how to play her, knew how to lick her in a way that made her her jolt and whimper, clutching at the bedsheets and biting her lip. Adding his fingers intensified everything, and she moaned his name.

_Gods_ it had been so long. Two long years without being touched or held by anyone. And now she was being engulfed by him, kissed deeper than anyone had ever kissed her, nuzzled and praised as his cock pushed against her. He felt  _so good._ All of him. She was overwhelmed.

"Qerhan?" Sandor stopped, wiping at her face. When had she begun to cry? She hadn't even felt it coming. "What's wrong? Do you want me to stop?"

"No!" She exclaimed, sniffing. "No, Sandor. It's good."

She gripped his head, pulling him closer to her for another kiss. Rolling her hips against him, she urged him to keep going, gasping as he began to take her slowly. Qerhan turned her lips to his ruined ear: "I missed you."


	35. Dragonpit

Qerhan never thought she would have to look at King's Landing ever again. As their small ship edged into the harbor, she sighed up at the claustrophobic cluster of buildings, bodies and smells. At once she wished to be back in the north, where the air was crisp and cold, and there was enough space to breathe.

"Thought I'd seen the last of this rat's nest." Sandor rasped, taking up the space beside her on the rail. "Half wished it had all burned to the fucking ground that night."

"Aye." She agreed, watching the workers scurry for their ropes and haul them in. "I'll never understand why anyone might want to live here."

"There's a whorehouse on every corner!" The Imp appeared, trotting down the steps to her right, looking inappropriately chipper. "Can't see any problem with a place like that!"

"Fuck off." Sandor snapped.

"I have every intention of doing so, I assure you. The less I have to look up at that face, the better…"

Sandor gave him his best scowl.

"...I just wished to inform the lady that we will not, actually, be  _entering_  the city."

"We won't?" Qerhan chirped happily.

"No. Cersei has agreed to meet us in the Dragonpit."

"What's that?"

"It's where the Targaryens used to keep all of their pets." Sandor told her, before Tyrion could even open his mouth. "Not much but a ruin now. Not even a roof…"

Catching his glance, she deduced. "So the two of them  _are_  coming."

"It would seem so, yes." Tyrion said. "But they want to make an  _entrance,_  you know. Show off their assets."

The Dragonpit was crumbling. The years had not been kind to it, and most of the walls had begun to fall in, showering the arena itself with debris. In amongst the fallen stone lay the remains of creatures that might have been dragons, might have been dogs or cats. Qerhan picked up one of the skulls while they waited.

"Did you ever see them?" She asked Sandor.

"No, the last one died well before I was born." He answered, kicking a tiny femur away.

"I don't see why they had to lock  _these_ ones away. They wouldn't have been much of a threat to a goat."

He snorted. "No, the Pit wasn't built for these little bastards. It was meant for the likes of Balerion the Dread and his kin."

"How big was he?"

"I never saw him...but they kept his skull under the Red Keep. I'd say he was almost twice the size of Daenerys' black one."

"Drogon?"

"Aye, that one." He replied. "When people think of dragons, they think of monsters like that. Not these twisted little imps. The Targaryens probably put them here to hide their shame."

"Oh." She traced the edges of the eye sockets, then looked about. "Do you think this is an ambush?"

"The thought had crossed my mind."

"Cersei has reason to kill everyone here."

Sandor nodded. "And not much reason to believe we've brought her anything worth seeing."

"If I were queen, I'd kill us."

"If you were queen I'd expect no one would dare piss you off."

A shout from Snow drew their attention, and they hurried back to the stone dais. Queen Cersei arrived with a handful of others, including her brother, a maester, and the Mountain. Qerhan glanced at Sandor. Sure enough, his eyes were trained on his brother as they passed. But Gregor did not look back.

Cersei sat, looking about. Her eyes fell on Sandor for a moment, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. Jaime looked over as well, and started when he saw him, mouthing his name. At once Sandor stepped out, and marched toward them. Gregor shifted at once to stand in front of the queen, but there was something  _off_  about the way he moved. Sandor said something to him, but he made no response, just stared off into nothingness.

When her husband turned away, Qerhan noted the disturbed expression on his face, and the way he glanced back, almost hoping Gregor would do something.

"What is it?" She queried as he came to stand beside her.

"I don't know." he admitted. "There's something…  _Wrong_  with him."

A roar, and dozens of heads turned skyward. There, reeled Drogon and Rhaegal, descending in slow circles to the Pit. The Queen and her subjects stared, wide eyed at the two dragons coming for them. All save Gregor, who continued to gaze glassily straight ahead.

Drogon alighted on the lip of the arena, sending another section of wall tumbling as his tail struck it. Queen Daenerys and King Aegon slid from his back and strode to where the congregation was waiting. Cersei, still glancing nervously at the dragons, made some backhanded comment about arriving on time, and Qerhan rolled her eyes.  _Typical_.

"Come on." Sandor muttered, heading for the stairs leading under the Pit. Qerhan fell into step beside him. Down in the darkness, six guards with torches stood around their precious cargo. Presently, one was trying to peek between the boards of the grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and tossed him roughly aside, calling him all sorts of names.

"Best hope it's still kicking." Qerhan remarked as two of the men helped Sandor to heave the box onto his back. Seeing him strain against it, she cocked an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Flash of inspiration,"

He smirked. "Tell me later."

With her at his back, he lugged the massive box up the stairs to where the royals awaited.

Qerhan wished she had a word for Cersei's face when the wight came charging out of the box at her, screaming bloody murder. She and Sandor laughed their heads off about it later. Still, it did the trick, and Cersei agreed to a truce for the time being, and Jaime promised to bring their troops north at once.

"Do you think they'll keep their word?" Qerhan asked, stretching across Sandor's broad chest. She felt his sigh before she heard it.

"Cersei's a mad bitch." He rumbled lethargically. "But she's not stupid. As much as she might hate all of us, I'd say she knows that right now her best interests lie with us."

"What if she recalls her troops?"

"Then we're all fucked."

"Braavos isn't far from Dragonstone, you know."

He chuckled. "I thought about it."

"If we get through all of this...you'll go with me?"

He went to sit up, forgetting how low their bunk was. His head hit the top with a mound  _thunk_.

" _Fucking shit!"_ He exclaimed, clutching his forehead and falling back to the pillows. Qerhan, half laughing, kissed it better. "You want to go to Braavos?"

"Not for long. We'll get Rosha, spend some time with my brothers and sister…"

"And then?" He urged. "What's the grand plan?"

"I'm not sure."

He rolled her onto her back, enclosing her with his arms. "I'll tell you, then. If we're talking the end of all this war, that means I'll have finally killed my cunt brother. The keep will be mine, and I have every intention of restoring it to its former glory. You and Rosha will come with me. We won't serve the Lannisters any more, you can be sure of that. We'll make our own way."

She stroked his black hair. "And what about…"

A frown. "Out with it."

"Another one?"

"I was thinking six."

"You get fucking  _one_  more!"

"We'll discuss this later."


	36. Welcome

Winterfell was nigh buried in snow. It reached halfway up the outer walls, piled atop the towers and battlements. When they entered the courtyard with Queen Daenerys' convoy, they found Jon Snow's half-siblings shuddering with the cold along with a handful of other heads of houses. Those assembled eyed the newcomers with suspicion, and there was a collective intake of breath when Daenerys and Aegon emerged from their carriage. They had agreed not to ride in on Drogon, but in the distance, the song of the two dragons rang clear, reminding everyone of who they were dealing with.

The northerners were duly cautious of the Targaryens, and put them through a barrage of questions upon entering the castle hall. The tension all around was tangible, and by the time everyone was done talking some individuals still eyed one another distrustfully.

Someone appeared at Qerhan's elbow, and she looked around to find Lady Arya standing there, that unreadable smile spread across your face. Sansa stood behind, looking uncertain.

"My mother never let the dogs in the hall." The Wolf Girl said.

Qerhan stood aside, tugging Sandor forward by the sleeve. His smile was just as mysterious, and she wondered if he held the girl's actions against her.

"So you're still alive then, Wolf Bitch." He rasped, then to Sansa: "And the Little Bird, too. Can you still not look at me, girl?"

As if to prove him wrong, Sansa looked boldly up into his face.

"How?" Arya demanded. "How are you here? You were half dead when I left you."

"Aye, more than halfway." He concurred. "Lucky for me someone came along not long after. Someone who knew what to do. Fat lot of fucking help you were."

"I wanted you dead." She said stonily. "I hated you."

A smirk from him. "'Wanted'...'hated'...I'm still here you dumb cunt."

Arya went for him suddenly, and Qerhan's hand shot to her knife, but there was no need. The girl flung her arms round his middle and hugged him tight. Sandor stood stock still, staring down at her, until his wife nudged him, and he wrapped his arms round his onetime ward. It was only a brief thing, but she could see the warmth it left in his eyes.

Then Arya was gone, and Sansa lingered. She took a few more steps towards them, then faltered. Sandor laughed.

"Say your words, Little Bird."

She sighed. "I should have gone with you. The night of the Blackwater. I was so frightened then, I didn't believe you when you said you would keep me safe. I'm sorry I didn't trust you. Sorry for how rude I always was...to both of you."

Her blue eyes turned to Qerhan then, and she knew the girl remembered her. Had wondered that for a long time.

"You were never rude, Little Bird." Sandor replied. "Always the perfect little lady."

"...and that was rude of me."

They both hesitated a moment, wavering on the spot. Sandor moved first this time, pulling her into a comforting embrace. Sansa curled into his chest, and Qerhan's heart went out to the child. To her sister and brothers, too.

Sandor was a warrior. On top of that, he was a sensible man. He planned ahead, prepared, tried to predict every possible outcome to any situation. It was how he had survived thirty years in such an inhospitable country.

Nothing could prepare him for meeting Qerhan's family. Her nephews were fascinated by him, and sat almost on his knees to ask him all sorts of questions about Westeros, his family, and his profession. They had caught a rabbit and a grouse for dinner, and proudly shoved both carcasses in his face as they told him how they killed them. Little Lynn was shy, and did not speak to him, but insisted on climbing on him at any given opportunity.

Presently, she was clinging to his back like one of those monkeys from the East. Having tried and failed to braid his hair, she was now at risk of falling asleep as he recounted the events north of the Wall to Polfrud. Aosidh made her entrance then, having been at one of the neighboring tents tending to a man who had come down with a fever, and Sandor did a double take, glancing from Qerhan to her sister. Qerhan grinned. Aosidh was shorter, plumper, with lighter hair and green eyes, and her face was spattered with freckles. Still, the resemblance was uncanny, and it was not lost on him.

"Any word from Shoni?" Qerhan asked.

Polfrud shook his head. "Nothing at all from Eastwatch for weeks."

She exchanged worried glances with Wysu. In the other woman's arms, Byron began to fuss.

"They wouldn't send word unless they had to." Sandor commented. "Hard for ravens to fly in this weather."

"Right." She agreed. "I'm sure we'll know when the Wall falls."

"Probably hear it from here." Polfrud added.

Wysu gave a thin smile and stepped out with the baby. Lynn perked up and went running after her.

"Are you here for dinner?" Aosidh asked. "It's almost done."

"Oh, no." Qerhan and Sandor both stood. "We have to go to the banquet. I'll try to snatch some roast pork for you."

They both agreed they would rather eat in that tent than with all of the lords and ladies in the hall. But as members of the party that had accompanied the King in the North on his expedition, they were expected to attend the dinner celebrating his safe return. Qerhan made the most of it by sneaking slivers of meat into her napkin for her sister, but Sandor just sat glumly at the end of the table, jabbing at his potatoes with a knife until they were powder.

She elbowed him. "At least there's plenty of wine."

"Highlight of the evening."

"Cheer the fuck up."

"Make me."

"You know I can't do that with so many people about."

The corners of his mouth twitched, and she winked at him.

He was not the only one looking unhappy. Snow and his two sisters sat at the high table looking genuinely distressed, like they'd received more bad news. The brother, on the other hand, did not seem bothered at all, but he was a strange one. At Jon's side, Daenerys and Aegon seemed to be having a rather heated conversation.

As soon as they finished, Sandor stood. "Let's go."

Qerhan looked around the room. No-one else had left yet. "Is it alright?"

"Don't care, I'm fucking tired."

"Let's at least excuse ourselves."

He growled. " _Fine."_

She did not like it either. Usually the Free Folk came and went as they pleased, and she was not exception, but she liked these people, and wished to cause no offence. So when Sandor went through the rigmarole of "My wife is tired...please excuse us…", she smiled up at the nobles and feigned humility.

Then she caught the eye of the younger boy, and he seemed for a moment to gaze into her very soul. When he opened his mouth, he spoke slowly, dreamily: "She's happy, you know. In Braavos."

He said it softly, but the words pierced her heart, and she grabbed Sandor's arm for support.

"Yes, I…" She stammered. "Excuse me, I really am quite tired."

Before Sandor or anyone else could say anything, she stormed off. Away from them, out of the hall. Up the stairs to the chamber they had assigned Sandor, slamming the door behind her.


	37. Family

Sandor came before she could even sit down, rushing across the room to hold her. Qerhan hid against his breast, silent for a good long while.

"If it's any comfort, Arya near throttled the little shit." He offered.

Qerhan laughed, drying her eyes. "I know he didn't mean it...he was trying to be comforting, I think."

"Did a hell of a job."

She pinched his side. "I miss her."

Sandor kissed her hair. "I've not even met her and I miss her."

Qerhan stood on tiptoe to kiss him. "I have a present for you."

His eyebrow shot up. "A present?"

"It's not much." She went to her belongings, and from one of the packs extracted a silver cylinder. Taking it to the table, she gestured for him to sit. For once he complied, clearly intrigued. Qerhan handed him the container. "Open it."

Sandor unscrewed the top and tipped the tube, a puzzled expression coming across his face as a tightly-packed roll of paper slid into his hand. "What's this?"

"They don't rely much on Maesters to do their record keeping in Braavos. After Rosha was born, my brother took me to the census building to sort out her records." She explained.

He carefully unrolled the vellum scroll, silver eyes darting back and forth over the writing. It was all in Braavosi, of course, but he could deduce some of it.

"What's this?"

"Her birth weight."

"This?"

"Length."

"I don't know what these are."

"I think they're her eyes and hair color."

It took him an age to cop the most important detail. "Rosha... _Clegane_?"

Qerhan nodded. "They have no system for naming bastards in Braavos. As long as they have the father's name, that's what they'll use."

He already looked fit to weep, when he noticed there was a second page. "How much information do they fucking -"

Sandor Clegane, not one easily left speechless, lost his words.

"It's also customary to have a portrait done of the baby at three months. My brother's friend is particularly famous for his work."

The lacquered square of canvas fluttered to the table as he buried his face in his hands. On it was the image of an infant wrapped in a red blanket, blue eyes looking straight up as she sucked on her tiny fist.

It was enough to reduce even the most hardened warrior to tears. Qerhan reached across the table to comfort him, stroking his silky black hair, letting him take her hand and squeeze it like a drowning man clinging to a lifeline

"The...necklace…" He managed, trying to collect himself. "Do you still have it?"

She frowned. "Of course."

"Put it on."

"But Gregor."

"If that cunt so much as touches either of you, he's fucking dead."

Sandor rolled over, taking the blankets with him and effectively waking his wife right up. Qerhan swore, wriggling right up against him and trying to yank them out from under his massive bulk.

"The fuck are you doing?" He rumbled sleepily.

"Trying not to freeze to death."

Seeing her predicament, he turned, wrapping the blanket around her and pulling her close. She allowed herself to be subjected to an onslaught of lazy kisses as she enjoyed the heat radiating off him.

"I had a dream." He told her.

"Congratulations."

"Just for that I won't tell you."

"Good."

He lasted as long as it took her to trace his scars from his lip to his ear.

"I dreamt I was hunting with your father."

"You've never met my father."

"It was a fucking dream, I told you." He retorted. "Anyway, we were out hunting, and I brought down a doe. Drove an arrow right through its neck."

She snorted. "I've seen you shoot. You'd hit the tree twelve yards to the left."

"Fuck you."

"You already did."

He laughed at that. " _Anyway_ , we brought it home, and your father set about skinning it. Then he starts talking about how I shouldn't have killed a doe. Said it was bad luck to kill a doe in winter. Then he took the knife and stabbed me in the neck."

"Sounds like Daddy, alright."

He prodded her. "You really think he'd stab me?"

"Just to test how soft you are."

"So you don't think he'd like me?"

"I think he'd love you."

"...he would?"

"Aye, Mammy too. She'd feed you til you were as fat as that Baratheon king." Qerhan tried to imitate her mother. "' _Big lad like that needs fuel...are you feeding him, Qerhan?... Here son, you finish that, you need it more than me…'"_

"You speak from experience."

"I remember her with Polfrud."

"And your father? Did he like Polfrud?"

She thought a moment. "Not at first. You saw, Polfrud's skinny. Da thought he was weak at first. Then he saw him take down a boar, and decided he was alright."

"So he'd like me because I'm strong?"

"No, he'd  _try_ to like you because he'd know how I feel about you. He'd respect you because you're strong."

"Ah."

"...Sandor?"

"Hm?"

"What did he look like, my father?"

"Ummm….a lot like Shoni. Tall, lithe but powerful. Red hair. Red beard. Eyes like yours and freckles like your sister. Nose looked like it'd been broken a hundred times."

She raised her head to stare at him.

"What? Ridiculous, right?"

"I think I'd say 'disturbingly accurate."


	38. Winter's End

When Shoni arrived to declare that the Wall had fallen, with Tormund and Dondarrion most likely lost, none of them wanted to believe it. Jon Snow pressed him for details, and Daenerys' heartbreak at mention of Viserion was written across her face.

At last Lady Sansa spoke up: "And where are Cersei's armies?"

Everyone glanced about nervously; it would seem the Lannisters had gone back on their word. At Qerhan's side, Sandor laughed darkly.

"So this is how it ends."

Desperately, Snow began to appeal to the lords and Ladies gathered, asking how many soldiers they could spare. He was promised at most ten thousand from the northern houses, and a further sixty thousand from the Targaryens.

"That still leaves us short." He commented. And the more people die, the more soldiers for the Night King's army. A heavy sigh. "We need the Lannisters, we need the Ironborn…  _Gods where is Theon_?"

"We don't have the Lannisters, or the Ironborn!" Sansa said. "And we can't sit around waiting for them to arrive. We need to move  _now_!"

Her brothers and sister all nodded in agreement. And Jon Snow looked to his lords.

"Will you stand with us?"

Qerhan, Sandor, Shoni, and a handful of wildlings were sent with the vanguard. The Dothraki and Unsullied came behind, with the northmen bringing up the rear. Daenerys, Aegon, and Jon would come from the skies. Again, the wildlings grumbled that they were being used as bait, and again Qerhan could not help agreeing. They were only three thousand in all, and did not stand a chance against the Army of the Dead.

Just a few miles from Winterfell, the troops broke formation, instead banding together in small groups, which would attempt to circle the enemy and get behind them. She, Sandor, Shoni, and six others headed for the coast, hugging the eastern shoreline of Westeros in an attempt to make it to the Wall and assess the situation there, hopefully meeting with the remainder of the Night's Watch, whom Jon had ordered out of the safety of Castle Black in order to retake Eastwatch, if possible.

It was deadly quiet. All along the coast, they had seen nothing of the Others or their minions. Not even the shadow of their new airborne weapon. Qerhan wondered if they were heading for Winterfell, or perhaps some of the smaller keeps, in search of new recruits.

Ahead loomed the wall, or what remained of it. The entire easternmost arm had been destroyed, now reduced to a jagged hill of ice, while its outer edge had been utterly lost to the sea. Of Eastwatch, only half of the fortress remained, sagging slowly over the edge of a new-cut precipice. There were no lights in its windows.

"No-one home." Sandor commented monotonously.

"No living soul." Shoni added.

"Tormund…" Qerhan let her eyes wander over the grey ruin, searching for anything. Any sign of movement. In the shadows there was naught to be seen.

They approached with due caution, struggling up the icy hill east of the broken courtyard walls. Here, almost all the stone had fallen away, and they could peer down among the buildings. Shoni was edging for a fire, but until they knew what the threat was, if any, both Sandor and Qerhan insisted they could not risk the light.

On the hilltop, they found the remnants of those rickety wooden steps Shoni had hated so much, and snowed-over piles that might have been the watchtowers. It was cold and sorrowful and bleak up here, with the wind biting at their faces. Hopelessly, they sifted through the snow, not looking for anything in particular. Qerhan took a discarded quiver and swung it over her back.

One of the men ventured over to the northern edge, stepping up onto a pile to look down. At once he dropped, swearing and waving them frantically over.

When Qerhan gazed down at the hoards of waiting dead, her stomach twisted into a knot. There must have been about twenty thousand of them down there, with a single Other in their midst.

"There's nowhere to go." Shoni gasped, hand shaking as he reached out to steady himself.

"No." Sandor rasped. "They haven't seen us yet. We can still get away."

"And go  _where_?" Qerhan hissed. "This is just the rearguard, the rest of the army is behind us. Whichever way we go, we're fucked!"

"We head west, towards Castle Black." He said. "Try to catch up to the Night's Watch, if there's any of them left. Hopefully we can loop back around and meet with the rest of the armies further south."

"That's leaving a  _lot_ up to chance."

"Not much else we can do." Shoni remarked. "Let's get on."

Creeping back down the slope, they once again avoided the ominous presence that was the deserted castle. After seeing what they had, it was now apparent that the commanding Other would have most likely placed a few surprises among the crumbling walls, and the company chose not to discover what those might be.

Just half a mile from Eastwatch, Sandor tripped, cursing as he fell forward into the plush snow. Qerhan laughed, of course, praising his inhuman grace, and did not look until she heard him laugh ironically: "Wasn't your last life, after all."

Stuck deep into the ice, all that could be seen of the sword was its polished hilt and handle. Kneeling, Sandor grasped this, and pulled the weapon out of the frozen ground with relative ease.

They made camp in a thicket of tall firs, which broke the wind considerably. Once again, Sandor was the worst of them, shivering horribly as soon as it got dark. Qerhan carefully inspected his extremities before bundling him in a thick elk skin rug. He rested his head on her shoulder while he slept.

Shoni edged over. "How is he?"

"Cold." She answered simply. "He's not made for this, Shoni."

"I know." Her brother agreed. "And I don't think going west will do us any good. I reckon the Crow've either gone south to their leader, or been killed already."

"So which way should we turn?"

"East." He said. "Go along the coast like before. We know the way, and it'll be warmer there than the midlands. Slightly."

She nodded, having thought the same thing. "How will we convince  _him_?"

"Don't need to. We outnumber him."

At first light, they made their intentions clear, and though Sandor did not like turning away from the Night's Watch, they overpowered him, and he surrendered. So they found themselves heading once more for the coast.

Midway through the second day, they heard a glamour, and picked up speed. As they neared the plains before Eastwatch, it grew louder. Thus it was that they found themselves on the field of battle.

All across the plain, the black standard of the Greyjoys flew, broken here and there by golden lions. It seemed Jaime Lannister had not gone back on his word.

"Where are you?" She heard Sandor mutter, scanning the field.

Shoni turned northward, eyes going wide. "They're pouring over."

Indeed they were. Atop the wall stood an Other, and from there he directed his troops over the wall toward the living.

Sandor took off, Qerhan and the others at his heels as he bolted for the commander. She should stop, she knew. Stop him. This was suicide. But something about the way he moved told her he would not halt, would not turn back. And where else could she go but with him?

Shouting from the keep, and Sandor veered off the path as a wight tumbled over the wall, crashing into a thousand pieces on the ground below. Within, they found a group of Lannister soldiers in the midst of a crawling hive or the dead. At the center of the ring of men stood the Kingslayer.

Sandor knocked a Walker away as it ran for him, cleaving another's head in two with his sword. " _Jaime!"_

The lions head helm whipped around. " _Sandor!_ "

At the heart of the battlefield, the two met, and the Kingslayer pulled his protege into a brief embrace. Qerhan, giving them their moment, swung at the oncoming hoards madly, backing right into Sandor as he released his friend.

"Fucking  _move_ , both of you!" She growled, pushing them toward the gate.

Jaime lobbed the head off a wight. "We need to secure the keep!"

Sandor spat. "The keep is lost. It's the Wall we need to secure, come on!"

He dragged Jaime bodily out, with much help from the Wildlings, then grabbed him by the shoulders. Jaime's eyes went wide.

"But they don't exist."

Sandor guffawed loudly. "Tell him that! Listen, Jaime, we need your sword."

" _My_  sword!"

Qerhan clasped his sword hand, inspecting the blade. "Valyrian steel. If you put that through his heart, he and all his cohorts will fall! Come on!"

Together, they pushed and pulled a frightened Kingslayer up the frozen rubble of the wall, Shoni and the others helping to punch a hole in the shambling ranks. But the dead were so many, and they would join them before long if they continued.

"Sandor, use your sword!" She yelled over the din.

"The fuck do you think I'm doing!"

"That's not what I meant!"

"...I can't."

"Yes, you can!"

"I don't know how!"

"Don't give me that bullshit, you've seen Dondarrion do it a hundred times!"

"I'm not Dondarrion!"

She caught him by the collar. "If you don't, we're all dead."

He closed his eyes. "I'm afraid."

"So am I!" Qerhan snarled. "I'm afraid of these fuckers. I'm afraid of that cunt up there! I'm afraid I'll never see my baby again. And I'm afraid of losing you! Now  _fucking do it!"_

She shoved him roughly away, and the jolt seemed to sober him. Removing his glove, he drew his hand upward along the blade as Dondarrion had once done.

It erupted into flames, and they both recoiled, Sandor near dropping the sword into the snow. Then he looked at Qerhan, grinning.

"It isn't hot. I don't feel anything!"

"Fantastic, now let's go!"

Jaime and the others were already at the top. The Other had seen them, and was edging his way over to the Kingslayer, knocking his own soldiers down as he went. Sandor and Qerhan cut their way to him, Walkers falling like flies before the blazing sword.

When the Other's blade clashed with Jaime's, the sound rang clear across the lands. Taking a position behind his friend, Sandor kept the Walkers off his back, while Qerhan and her kin worked the perimeter, effectively isolating the Other, who took swipes at them periodically. In a matter of minutes four of the Free Folk had fallen, and she and Shoni were screaming orders to burn the bodies. With what they did not know.

Gripping her axe firmly, Qerhan was struck by a sudden flash of confidence, and swiped at the Other while his back was turned. Sandor bellowed something at her, but stopped as she severed his right leg below the knee. With a screech, the demon wobbled and fell sideways, struggling only a few away before Jaime was on him, driving his sword firmly through its blackened heart.

At once, a vast number of the Walkers collapsed, hitting the snow with a soft crunch. Sandor laughed and hugged Jaime from behind in a rare display of relief, pride and delirium. With their commander fallen, the rest were easy pickings. Once the fight was done, the living piled the dead into a veritable mountain, and stood back to watch their burning foes light up the night sky.

Sandor came and put his arm around his wife, and Qerhan proudly squeezed his arse.

"We would have been dead if not for you."

"And you." He said, turning to pinch her chin between his fingers. "But if you ever do a fucking stupid thing like that again, I'll skin you."

Laughing, she kissed him. "No promises."


	39. Blood Ties

_BRAAVOS_ ,  _AC 302_

Spring had come. As their small vessel edged into the harbor, a cool wind picked up from the west, carrying with it the last remnants of a brief but cruel winter, and the threat of eternal night. With the war over, she and Sandor had been seen off by Lady Stark with kind words and promises that the king and queen would reward them generously for their contributions. Shoni and Aosidh had returned north with their families, after many tearful goodbyes, and now they were free to start anew.

Sandor's shadow fell over her reflection in the blue water, and he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, softly kissing her neck. Turning to capture his lips, Qerhan grinned up at him. She knew he was just as excited, just as anxious and hopeful as her, the way his hands held her, just a little too tightly, gave that away.

The ship bumped against the dock, and the gangplank was lowered with a  _thud_  which made the people below run for cover, glaring. Not having much, Sandor shouldered both of their bags and nudged her off the ship, tossing a coin to the yeoman as they passed.

They had hardly set foot on dry land, Sandor shuffling rather awkwardly, having finally gotten used to the ship, when a nervous-looking man hurried up to them, wringing his hat in his hands as he bowed.

"My lady. My lord." He wheezed. "Your brother has sent me to see you safely home."

Qerhan stepped forward and kissed the man upon either of cheek. "A pleasure to see you again, Maro."

Flushing, the plump little footman, expressed similar sentiments. Quailing under Sandor's scrutiny, he quickly turned and led them to an awaiting carriage. Qerhan eagerly jumped up onto the plush velvet bench, patting the seat next to her encouragingly to a bewildered-looking Sandor.

They were driven to the outskirts of the city, a lush land of vineyards and fruit trees planted neatly in vast groves. Out of the confines of the more populated areas, the houses here grew steadily larger and larger, until they resembled palaces. Sandor nearly had a heart attack when the carriage pulled through a wrought-iron gate and into the drive of a beautiful yellow manor.

"I don't think you ever told me." He said at length. "What exactly your brother does."

"Oh, he works for the Iron Bank."

" _The Iron Bank_?"

"Uh-huh." She replied. "His wife, too. Plus they have the vineyards, and I believe they've invested in a textile mill near Pentos."

"Exactly how much are they  _worth_?"

Qerhan shrugged. "I never asked."

The carriage stopped outside a pair of immense oak doors, where they were greeted by a rather camp butler who subjected them both to a barrage of kisses until Sandor looked fit to kill him. Jacques escorted them into the lofty foyer, where a cry from above caused them both to look up.

There, on the balcony, stood her exquisite sister-in-law, Givre, a beauty of black hair, hazel eyes, and caramel skin. She practically flew down the stairs to greet them, son and daughter hurrying along behind. Sandor did not mind the kisses he received from her, and even bent to receive the children's greetings after Qerhan elbowed him.

"Come, everyone is  _dying_ to see you!" Givre led the way into the sitting room, where Qerhan's two brothers leapt up to greet her and her husband with rough embraces and even rougher thumps on the shoulder for Sandor. Thankfully, neither of them kissed him.

Both Urilem and Kurcra looked worn out. The latter, eldest of eight, was greying rapidly, with hardly a touch of black in his curly hair. His daughters, Elise and Anita, were twenty and fourteen now, both of them fine, strong young women. Their brothers Herkul and Irgis, a few years younger, played happily with Urilem's two, darting here and there among the furniture.

At Givre's behest, they went out to the garden, where the servants had laid out a wonderful lunch of cold meats, salad, fruit, bread and cheeses. Qerhan and Sandor ate sparingly and drank even less, and she suspected he did not really like the sweet wine that accompanied the meal. At last, after much prodding and whispering from him, Qerhan asked: "Where is she, Urilem?"

Her brother looked slowly up from his plate. "Upstairs, with Suzana and Tobias."

Givre leaned forward to touch her arm. "You want to see her?"

"Of course." Sandor said, a little harshly. Qerhan gave him a Look.

Givre gestured to Jacques, who trotted back into the house.

"Qerhan." Kurcra rumbled from across the table. "Don't force anything. She's over two now, she might not…"

"I know." He had said it to her, but his eyes were fixed sympathetically on Sandor, who was anxiously watching the door.

After what seemed like an age, Suzana emerged, Tobias running ahead of her, pregnant belly swelling in front. She led a girl in a light red dress, tied at the waist with a white ribbon. Qerhan heard Sandor's breath catch, and laid her hand on his arm, willing him to stay put.

Seeing her aunt, the little one shook Suzana off and ran over to Givre, who took her up into her lap. Glancing aside, Qerhan saw the tears starting in Sandor's eyes and kissed his cheek. The girl, sharp as ever, caught the movement and looked straight into her father's face. He tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace, and Rosha leant nervously into Givre, who offered her some grape.

Sandor turned his face away, and Qerhan squeezed his arm.

" _Relax."_

"I…" He stammered. "I don't want to frighten her."

She kissed him. "You won't. Just give her time."

Urilem whispered something into Rosha's ear, and again the child looked up. At her this time. Urilem said it louder this time: "That's your mama!"

Again, Rosha quailed, burying her face in Givre's chest. A small part of Qerhan's soul died, and this time Sandor put his arm around her.

It took days for her to look at them, and weeks before she would let them hold or touch her. Much to Sandor's heartbreak, she took to Qerhan better, following her about, climbing up into her lap in the evening when she was tired. Only when she was fully asleep did he dare to kiss her.

The worst days were painful, and Sandor took the blows harder than Qerhan. Every time she held their daughter, she saw the pain written across his face. And every time Rosha denied his affection, she saw him splinter.

One evening, after she had successfully put Rosha to bed, she returned to their chamber to find Sandor seated on the bed, one of her little boots turning in his hands. In the lamplight, the tears on his face shimmered.

"She hates me."

"She doesn't hate you."

"I can't even touch her."

"She needs time."

Qerhan sat beside him, brushing his black hair away and kissing his ruined face.

"It's killing me, Qerhan."

"I know." She nuzzled. "I know, my love. But you have to be patient. She's only two. And she's never…"

She trailed off, but of course he caught her meaning.

"She's never met me." He finished thickly. "I'm well fucking aware of that. I never got the chance to know her. And now I'm a stranger to her."

"It won't be like that forever." She urged. "You'll see. A year from now, I guarantee things will be different."

"You don't know that."

"I believe it." She turned his face to kiss his lips. "I believe in you. And her."

The breakthrough came unbidden. One night, Qerhan brought Rosha to their room, leaving her and Dakra on the floor to play while she and Sandor sat at the table, watching without watching as their daughter tried to explain to the hound that he should not bite his 'friend' (meaning the now-ragged hare). Dakra gently nudged the doll into her lap.

"Throw it, Sweetheart." Qerhan advised.

With a look of determination, Rosha stood up straight and heaved the hare across the room, sending Dakra bolting after it. The dog retrieved his toy and trotted over to Sandor with it, depositing the toy into his lap. Without a moment's hesitation, Rosha ambled over and clambered into her father's lap while Sandor looked on in shock. From her new vantage, she discovered she could chuck the toy even further, and when Sandor showed her how to command Dakra to sit, shake and drop, she looked up at him in awe.

Six months after their arrival, Qerhan and Sandor agreed it was time to take Rosha home. Now three, their daughter had become far more confident and willful in the last half year, and favored both of her parents above anyone else. In fact, to Qerhan's annoyance, she had rapidly evolved into Sandor's biggest fan, and could hardly bare to be apart from him for any length of time. She even insisted on sleeping between them along with Dakra.

So they made the journey back westward, and Sandor claimed the lordship of the now-vacant Clegane Keep, which he immediately set about refurbishing into a home worthy of his family. The walls he mended, the standards he had mended and hung again, the kennels were once again full of the baying of healthy hounds (and Dakra was chief among them), and servants once more bustled about, no longer afraid of the wrath of the Mountain.


	40. All that ends well...

The dead of night, and the keep was still. In the silence, a knock came at the door, waking him where he sat by his daughter's bed. He checked on Rosha, sleeping sweetly with Dakra by her side. The dog woke and lifted his head when his master stood up, but stayed put as he was told. Yawning, Sandor strode to the door, opening it to find one of the maids waiting in the passage.

"Forgive me, my lord." The old woman whispered. "But she's asking for you."

He followed her silently through the halls, stomach churning in a way he usually only experienced in the face of an open flame.

There were three other maids in the room, including a bent old wildling woman Qerhan had insisted on hiring for this very task.

His wife was not abed.

"I tried to tell her to keep it easy, my lord." One of the maids remarked. "But she insisted."

The wildling, Agnes, scoffed. "Walking's the best thing for it! It'll only take longer lying down like she's ready to sleep."

With a pained grunt, Qerhan braced her arm against the bedframe, clutching at her swollen belly. She managed to breathe through the contraction, but as she waddled over to Sandor, another came on fast, and he rushed over to steady her.

"Good lad." Agnes cheered. "That's it. Keep her up. Keep her walking until she's ready."

A long, low growl from his wife, knees buckling against the pain. Sandor held her up, panic rising in his chest as he watched her agonized face. As soon as she recovered, Qerhan punched him squarely in the chest.

Across the room, Agnes guffawed. "It'll get worse than that, believe me."

He lost track of how many laps they had done. It felt like a thousand, and his arms ached with the strain of holding her up. She had punched him seven more times and bitten his shoulder during one particularly strong spasm.

As though sensing something, Agnes came over and crouched before Qerhan, lifting her nightgown up unceremoniously. The other maids gasped and turned away, and she glared over at them.

"If neither of you can handle that, best get the fuck out!" She snapped. "You'll be seeing a lot more soon enough!" Then to Sandor: "Get her on the chair, son. Not much longer now."

More carefully than he had done anything in his life, he lowered Qerhan into the birthing chair, eyeing the basin set below it and remembering what she had warned him about blood. He had laughed then.

He was not laughing now.

Another contraction. With his hands now on Qerhan's stomach, he felt it move through her, and was not surprised when her groan turned into a roar, near deafening him.

"That's it." Agnes praised. 'Good girl. That's a good, strong woman. More like that and you'll be done in no time."

Sandor raked his wife's damp hair out of her face, kissing her neck. Agnes handed him a damp cloth and told him to wipe her face. He did this, whispering words of encouragement into her ear. He hoped they were the right words.

It seemed to go on forever. Qerhan, wracked with pain and drenched in sweat, seemed to grow weaker and weaker. Agnes kept saying it would not be long, but still from his perspective there seemed little to no progress.

"Ah! Ah! There we are!" Agnes exclaimed out of nowhere. The other maids rushed to grab a blanket, a forceps and a scissors. "One more, Darling. One more!"

Nails sinking into his arms, Qerhan bent into her push, teeth clench, a guttural cry filling the room. Agnes gasped and seemed to fumble with something.

A high-pitched wail tore through the night, and the dogs began to bark. With a sigh, Qerhan fell back against him. Before he could register what he was seeing, a babe was pressed into his wife's outstretched arms, clutching at her bloodied gown with the tiniest of fingers. Sandor's mouth fell open. Shakily, he stroked the little face, mesmerized by two large brown eyes.

Agnes draped a blanket over mother and child, praising Qerhan to high heaven. Sandor she clapped excitedly on the shoulder.

"One of each now, Dada!"

He laughed through his tears, turning Qerhan's head to kiss him, kissing his son's little fist.

"Murtagh." She declared, headbutting her husband fondly.

"Murtagh." He agreed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Do people think I need to put a TW on this chapter? Let me know.
> 
> 2) That's the end of that! I hope you enjoyed this fix, and thanks to everyone who gave me such positive feedback! (^.^)/


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